Holting Steele
by RSteele82
Summary: (Canon Series) Part 1 of the Be Steele My Heart Series, this takes place during Season 5's Steeled With A Kiss. Remington copes with the loss of Daniel while Laura and he mend their relationship. Begins at Daniel's death and continues through 'when the lights go out.'
1. Chapter 1

Beginning during Steeled With A Kiss Part II, Holting Steele is part I in a two part series. Picking up at Daniel's death, Holting Steele takes us through "when the lights went out" as our favorite couple begin their journey towards a future.

Standard disclaimers apply: I neither own nor profit from the characters or show.

My enthusiastic thank you goes out to my editor/beta reader and fellow Steele Watcher. It takes a determined person with a true love of the characters to forget through nearly 80,000 words while offering guidance on how to keep the characters true.

For the most enjoyment of stories, be certain to read them in order, as past stories are weaved into future ones. The order, as of now, is as follows:

Steele Torn & Trying to Holt On  
Cannes Steele be Trusted (co-written with the super-talented SuzySteele)  
Steele Mending  
Steele Working out the Details  
Steele Settling In  
Steele Finding Comfort  
Steele Holting on To Christmas  
Steele Holting on To The Holidays  
Holting on to the Moments  
Steele Cold Relief  
Steele Cloned  
Steele Hurdling Obstacles  
Steeling the Big Apple  
Steele Dying to Get it Right  
Holting Steele - (Part 1 of Be Steele My Heart)  
Be Steele My Heart (Book 1)

I hope you enjoy. Please do leave feedback. Often my stories are spurred by suggestions by readers :)

* * *

Chapter 1: Endings

To say things had been, well… rickety… between Laura and Remington since their marriage on the tuna boat would be quite the understatement. They'd managed to survive Keyes's frame up of Remington for murder, as well as the introduction of one suspicious man of in the form of Anthony Roselli into their lives while in Las Haddas. Through a great deal of dialogue, they'd managed to put that mess behind them, until, of course, they returned to LA where they had every intention of finally crossing that line into the bedroom. But where their relationship pre-tuna boat had seemed to be marked by interruptions in the form of unwelcome visitors, bullets flying and untimely phone calls, post-tuna boat it seemed to be defined by roadblocks in the form of frame-ups, espionage, attempts on their lives, and, of course, a little bit of blackmail.

They'd had their evening all planned out when they arrived at LAX: Wine and dine the representative from the INS, then be done with the whole sordid mess by use of considerable charm. Then, once the investigator was shown the door, a night of long awaited love making – perhaps not in the worthy setting Remington had always imagined, yet the flat in which the majority of their non-traditional romance had taken place was, in both their eyes, a nearly perfect setting anyway. It was there, over the years, that they'd become friends; that he had wined, dined and tempted her; it was there that they had spent many a night by a fire, talking, drinking wine, weaving their presence throughout each other's lives; and it was here that they'd worn down the carpet in places, from nights of simply enjoying dancing in one another's arms.

That, of course, was not meant to be. The introduction of one persnickety and unpleasant INS investigator in the form of Gladys Lynch, one ex-lover with an agenda in the form of Shannon Wayne, and one snake in the grass, wanna-be wife stealer in the form of Anthony Roselli, and Remington had watched as an evening of romance went up in flames. The night had ended with Laura believing he had stashed a woman in his place, and him watching the woman that had stolen his heart years before kissing Roselli hard and deep. By night's end, both believed they had been betrayed by the other, and both were left feeling as though their worlds had imploded.

It was not until the air was cleared between them on the flight of London, that the world that had been tilting on its axis suddenly righted itself again. Over the last year, Laura and Remington had committed themselves with communicating more, hiding less. So, as the couple was barely holding on to the threads of the ties had bound them together across the years, he had taken a chance and warily approached her, in a desperate attempt to clear the air and hold on to what they had both clung to across the years. Only after assuring Laura that nothing had taken place between he and Shannon for years and that he had no desire to ever see the woman again, did she make some admissions of her own: Nothing had happened between her and Roselli on the beach, for no other reason that she didn't want it to. His relief at her words was palpable, and, as the world righted itself once more, they committed to wrapping up their case in London quickly so that they could finally enjoy their long awaited honeymoon.

But, of course, that, too, was not meant to be. In the spirit of their post-tuna boat wedding, blackmail was the call of the day. Roselli, who now revealed his ties to the INS, blackmailed Remington: either act as a mole in Roselli's little espionage game or be deported, while leaving the field clear for Roselli with Laura. Shannon Wayne was not passive in her own right, blackmailing Laura as well: she'd make a hasty exit from her and Remington's lives only if Laura would help her recover some pictures taken of her during a theft. Any idea of honeymooning tabled again combined with not seeing one another since they'd landed at Heathrow had once again taken a hard knock at the couple's now fragile trust in one another. Only after a rather… interesting… discourse on the dance floor at the Flamingo Club, combined with saving Remington's hide at Paddington Station were Remington and Laura able to once again right themselves. Then, when a solicitor had dropped by the hotel to announce Remington had inherited a castle in Ireland from the Earl of Claridge, it seemed fate had finally fallen in their favor. Neither could imagine a more worthy setting in which to finally consummate their relationship and they eagerly boarded a train, that would whisk them away to the port where a ship would take them to Ireland.

Had Laura had her way, that worthy setting would have quickly changed to the private cabin on the train. But once more, fate was fickle, and Remington watched her plans go by the wayside as his new bridge kissed the nefarious Roselli far too ardently, in his opinion, in order to save Roselli from the clutches of the Bobbies who were seeking to arrest him for espionage. Once more, the couple were swept up into a mess not of their own making, and once more, Remington had to stand by and watch as the once archaeologist then INS investigator now MI5 agent attempted to lure his wife away. Left with no choice but to help Roselli if he wished he and Laura to ever be rid of the snake-in-the-grass, Remington set about trying to clear Roselli of the charges against him.

Laura, in the meantime, was distracted by Daniel Chalmer's arrival at Ashford Castle and quickly found her hands full, as unwanted as that might be. Unwittingly, she had unearthed the secret that Daniel was Remington's long-lost father, the secret she now carried leaving her angst ridden as Daniel continually tried to avoid telling his son the truth. At the same time, she found herself in a position of having to fend off Roselli's continual advances.

It seemed to Remington that since the arrival of the INS in their lives, he and Laura had been living out one of those awful made-for-television mini-series that Laura was so fond off or, even worse, one of those bloody soap operas Mildred adored. For more than a month, now, their lives had been dictated by one outlandish plot after another, and he was getting damned tired of it at all. He wanted nothing more to settle back into the tranquility he and Laura had found in the last year – with the exception of a couple blips along the way. He needed the friendship they had always shared, missed the partnership that had forged who they'd become together. He longed for a night by the fire, wine glasses in hand, where they would talk about everything and nothing at all, laughing often and sharing heart-stopping kisses here and there. For a man that once enjoyed living on the edge nearly all the time, now he craved those periods of stillness, where peace reigned and the only adrenaline that flowed was due to his wife's effect upon his person.

Laura was equally fed up, certain that she and Remington had somehow been yanked into a triple feature of some of the awful B-rated movies he enjoyed in which the plot was never quite clear but the main character faced one surreal challenge after another. Whatever it was, she was equally as exhausted as her husband. Daniel's secret weighed heavily on her shoulders, and with each passing hour she felt more and more like she was betraying Remington by not telling him. She was tired of Roselli's dogged pursuit of her and his attempts to sway her from her loyalty to Remington. She was tired of forces over which neither she nor Remington had any control dictating their lives from one minute to the next. She missed her partner, her best friend. She missed their quiet nights together. She missed their lives back home in LA, and wanted nothing more than to return to the peace they'd found in one another before the INS had arrived.

Both of their heartfelt wishes would come true, but in a way neither of them would ever be able to predict.

* * *

Laura returned from Galway with Roselli teetering on the edge of exhaustion. A night spent following Daniel, trying to find out what, precisely, the man was up to at the Soviet Embassy had meant not a bit of sleep. Having to fend off yet another kiss by Roselli then deal with his adolescent attempts at trying to convince her how much he cared about her, only served to fray her nerves. She'd handled it poorly, allowing the man to believe at one time he might have had a chance with her. She shook her head, irritated with herself over the whole debacle. She'd been ping-ponging between fury with her Mr. Steele for the way he'd handled the INS affair to nursing a broken heart that he hadn't come to her to wanting nothing more than to finally make love to the man that had held her heart for so long to simply missing his presence. The more her emotions spun out of control, the more he spiraled with her, never knowing from moment-to-moment which Laura to expect. Right now, what she wanted more than anything was to go up to their room, shower, pull on one of his shirts and curl up in his arms and sleep for days.

But, Daniel's secret kept her from allowing herself even that little comfort. The guilt of keeping it from Remington was slowly eating away at her and she'd begun avoiding him, afraid that he would take one look at her and know she was keeping something from him. That he would assume it was something of significance had happened between she and Roselli, she didn't doubt for a minute. He'd have absolutely no reason to suspect she was complicit in something with Daniel, but after the way she'd behaved in Mexico, LA and later on the train to port, he'd have every reason to believe that of she and Roselli.

She regretted, deeply, her words to Daniel at the Embassy.

" _ **I think you've made the right one. I'm glad you haven't told Mr. Steele the truth. He's better off imagining the strong father he deserves than finding out he's the son of a cowardly con artist. Rest in peace."**_

She'd been cruel, there was no other way to put it. The words had been born of exhaustion and frustration. She felt like Daniel had finally accomplished what he'd been trying to do for years: Firmly putting an insurmountable wall between she and Remington. She knew her friend and partner well enough to know he'd see each second that ticked by without her revealing what she knew would be seen as one betrayal after another piled on top of each other. While she had spent years struggling to trust him, he'd given her his trust from nearly the first day, _except when it has really mattered,_ she reminded herself now. She shook off the thought. _As my mother has always told me, two wrongs don't make a right. My keeping this from him now can't be justified by the things he's kept from me in the past._

She needed to see him, to simply be near him, no matter the risks of her revealing too much. The lack of time with him these last weeks was drawing on her, she could admit that. It had been utterly confusing to be so angry at him, so hurt by him, but wishing she could just sit down and talk to her closest friend. She knew he saw her as his anchor, that in times of turmoil if he stood steady with her they'd come out on top. What he didn't know, and she certainly hated to admit to herself, he was her anchor as well. His good humor, his natural optimism buoyed her; his ability to suddenly become the calm, rational one when she went a little wild, provided her a balance she hadn't realized she'd needed; his simple presence by her side brought her peace, calming the troubled waters of her mind. If someone had told her four years ago that he would become her safe haven, she would have laughed. But, at the end of the day, that is what he was to her now: her sanctuary.

She parted Roselli's company at the front doors of Ashford Castle without a word or a glance. She knew he'd tried to draw her into conversation several times on their trip back, but she had simply tuned him out. As far as she was concerned, there was little left to say after she'd said what she needed in the streets of Galway. She slowly, wearily trudged up the stairs towards the master bedroom, hoping that Remington would be there.

The room, of course, was empty. Her shoulders drooped as she crossed the room to sit on the couch. She curled up into a corner, dozing in and out for several minutes, before she gave her head a hard shake. _Shower, then a nap,_ she commanded herself. Wearily, she leaned down to untie a shoe.

The bedroom door behind her flew open, slapping against the wall behind it. Somewhere in her mind she'd expected it to be Remington, and her face fell when she saw it was only Mildred. She sighed deeply in disappointment.

"Oh, Mrs. Steele," Mildred lamented somewhat frantically, as she hustled across the room towards Laura. "I've been looking for you for almost an hour. Where have you been?" Laura gave a weary shake of her head.

"In Galway, trying to find out what Chalmers is up to this time," she answered tiredly. She didn't even bother to wonder why Mildred was looking at her, confused. "What is it Mildred?"

"It's the Boss. Oh, Miss Holt… I mean Mrs. Holt-Steele, I tried to help but I don't know if I did. I don't think I've ever seen him this upset!" Mildred pressed her hands to her face, then dropped them. Laura stood and walked over to the older woman and grasped her upper arms lightly.

"Mildred, what is wrong with Mr. Steele?" she asked as calmly as she could as Mildred prepared to go off on another rant.

"It's Chalmers. He just told the Boss he's his father! The Boss isn't taking it well at all. Who would after being lied to for twenty years? He trusted…" Laura squeezed Mildred's arms lightly, trying to catch her attention.

" _Mildred!_ _Where_ is Mr. Steele?" she asked emphatically.

"With Chalmers, at least I think he is. He was at the lake, then came back inside after we talked. But he could have gone anywhere. You know how…" Mildred trailed off when she realized she was speaking to an empty room.

* * *

Laura moved swiftly, navigating from the wing of the castle in which she and Remington resided to the other wing of the house where Mildred, Daniel and Roselli had been provided rooms for the stay. She instinctively knew the second she viewed Remington from beyond the threshold of Daniel's room. Remington's drawn, shell-shocked visage as he sat on the bed holding two glasses of port said it all: Daniel had died. His head lifted, and the pain reflected in his eyes when he looked at her nearly knocked the wind from her. She'd only once before such a look of complete desolation on his face – the night she'd ended them before he'd fled for London. Her ability to find words of comfort for her husband fled on fleet foot, leaving her with only her presence to try to comfort him. Sitting on the bed next to him, she placed a hand on his shoulder. He barely moved, gave her no real acknowledgement, only sitting there with that look of utter devastation on his face, holding tight to those glasses.

At the touch of Laura's hand, Remington felt a quiver pass through his body. Numb from shock and grief, and weary after weeks of strain between the two of them, he felt as though he were frozen in place. He wanted nothing more than to drop the glasses he held and turn into her to so that he could find some slight solace in her embrace, yet was unable to. His mind, however, shouted it relief silently. _She's here. Somehow, as always seems to be the case, she's here when I need her most. Ah, Laura, what am I to do now?_ A dozen things he wanted to say and he couldn't force a word past his lips. But he didn't need to with her. He took comfort in the fact that she read him so well, knew how he was feeling without a single word. He'd only moved nearly infinitesimally towards her when Mickeline barged into the room.

"Sorry t'barge in on your Lordship, and I wouldn't 'ave intruded unless it was important- but there's a man deliverin' caskets downstairs."

Remington could only turn his eyes towards Daniel's body.

"Caskets?" Laura asked.

"By the hundreds!" Mickeline declared excitedly.

"We'll be right there," she told the butler wearily, then waited until the man departed the room before turning to Remington. Taking the glasses from his hands, she set them on the floor. Returning to him, she smoothed back his hair, then drew him into her arms. "We'll get through this together, Mr. Steele," she told him and felt a tremor run through his body at her words. "I promise, Remington. We will." At her last words his body to sink into hers as his arms wrapped around her and pulled her tightly against him with a desperation foreign to her. Her hand found the back of his head, and pressed his head to her shoulder. With a deep inhale that left him in a violent shudder, he forced himself together. Pulling away from her, he touched his fingers to a cheek, then closing his eyes, drew from a place from deep within and stood.

"Let's go find out what this is about, shall we?" he asked, his voice dull. He held out a hand to her, and she knew without him asking that he was seeking the comfort of her contact. She took his hand and rose

"Let's get this over with," she agreed.

* * *

Kemadov, Marissa, Mickeline, Mildred, Laura and Remington stood around the three caskets sitting in the middle of the anteroom, perplexed, at first, by what Daniel had in mind when ordering them. Marissa had tried her best to fill in the holes but had little to offer other than the plan involved a body and a plan to smuggle her father out of Moscow when he was found. That plan, of course, was now moot, as Daniel and she had been unable to find her father before Daniel's death, and now the much larger picture loomed: Roselli falsely accused of espionage; Fitch guilty of said espionage; a Russian in the form of Kemadov, who now had no choice but to defect to America; and, of course, the local gendarme out in force searching for Roselli. What, then, was the purpose of the three caskets standing before them now?

Laura watched with undiluted pride as Remington put it all together, figuring out what Daniel had been up to when he'd ordered the caskets. With a clap of his hands, he told the others of Daniel's plan, leaving the group, except Laura, confounded by his ability to figure out the intricate ruse.

The delivery man looked askance at Remington, while addressing no one in particular, "How did he figure that out?"

"Like father like son," Laura smiled towards Remington, realizing too late her gaffe. _Damn, please don't let him have heard. What were you thinking, blurting it out like that?_ She eyed him speculatively, seeing no signs that he'd heard, least of all had absorbed her words, during the excitement of planning the elaborate con that was about to unfold. She forced down her sigh of relief before she drew attention to herself once again, instead saying a prayer of silent thanksgiving.

Beside her, even as Remington continued to lay out the plan on how they could simultaneously reveal a spy while clearing Roselli, he valiantly forced back the tidal wave of betrayal that had submerged his being, left him feeling as though he was floundering alone in a sea of mourning and anger. _Like father, like son?_ Laura had missed the slight narrowing of his eyes, the way his fingers had clenched the sides of the casket upon which they were resting when she had spoken. Failed to notice that from that point on he could no longer look at her, make eye contact with her. Instead, he looked around her to Mildred whenever Laura posed a question or made a comment to which she expected a response.

Things unfolded rapidly and only minutes later Roselli was in police custody, and the plan was underway. Remington quickly outlined Daniel's intentions on how they would get Kemadov to the States while returning Fitch to the British authorities for prosecution for espionage, an unfortunate side effect being that of clearing Roselli. While he'd honor his word to the man, Remington could not quell his instincts which continued to warn him that he'd be best served if Roselli was behind bars and out of his life for good. _Yet another unfortunate by-product of my relationship with Laura,_ he thought to himself now. _This unquenchable need to honor my word._

The plan laid out, everything in motion, Remington turned on his heel and left the room without a look back.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Backlash

Laura stood in the foyer, frustration mounting. After Remington had abruptly left the anteroom downstairs, she'd wandered the castle in search of him. She knew all too well how during times of emotional turmoil he would turn inwards, shutting out those around him. In years past, she would leave him alone, allow him to work through things in his own time, his own way. Over the course of the last year, however, that had changed. They had worked hard to communicate with one another, especially during times of turmoil that would threaten to pull them apart. If they had learned nothing else, it was that each other's presence served as a balm for open wounds. It was because of this progress that her intuition now insisted that if she let him shut himself off this time, especially in light of all that had happened in the last several weeks, the results would be catastrophic.

 _I wasn't there._ The thought almost haunted her, that she'd been helping Roselli during that time when Remington had wandered the grounds, torn apart by Daniel's revelation about the true nature of their relationship. _It should have been me to help him navigate that minefield. It should have been my presence alongside him._ The thought that he may have searched her out, would have been unable to find her, clawed at her. _He needed me and I wasn't there._ She could only take small comfort in the fact that during those immediate moments after Daniel's death she _had_ been there.

With a flip of her head and a spin on her heel, Laura walked determinedly towards the stairs that led to their room. It had been the first place she'd searched when he'd departed the anteroom, but it had stood empty when she'd arrived so she'd gone on to search elsewhere: the library, study, kitchen, grounds… the list went on. It had been nearly an hour now, since she'd last been here. Opening the door to their room, she felt relief sweep through her at the sound of the shower running in the adjoining bathroom. A month ago, she would have been inclined to strip down and join him, to entice him into mutual explorations of one another's bodies. Now, after all that had happened in the past week… _No, the last few hours,_ she corrected herself… she hesitated, unsure if he would welcome or reject her. Thus, the decision was made. She moved to the end of their bed to sit down, to wait for him to emerge.

When the flow of water quieted less than a minute later, she surmised he must have been here some time, a conjecture confirmed when he exited the bathroom clean shaven as well as showered. Laura could not help the jolt that passed through her body when she spied his shirtless visage, sporting only a towel slung over his shoulders, presumably to catch the water that dripped from his wet locks. Given the situation at hand, she carefully schooled her face with a blank look, in order to conceal her raging desire for the man before her. On his part, Remington took quick note of Laura sitting upon the bed in wait of him, before turning his back without a word and fishing a turtleneck and sweater from the closet. Tugging both over his head he left them untucked, mindless of his normally impeccable grooming. With another glance in her direction, he retrieved his watch from the dresser, efficiently slipping it over his hand to his wrist, clamping it. Only after he'd retrieved his wallet, slipping it into a pocket, did he join Laura, slowly lowering himself to sit next to her on the bed.

Leaning forward, back bent, elbows on his knees, he flipped open the face of the pocket watch he held in hand, strains of _When Irish Eyes Are Smiling_ trickling through the room. The wordless silence was nearly oppressive, both feeling the strain of it weighing on their shoulders. After a long minute that had seemed to stretch on endlessly, Laura lifted her hand and moved to lay it on his arm in comfort, the hand stilling mid-movement as she saw the nearly imperceptible stiffening of his body as he realized her intent. Her hand fluttered for a moment before returning to her lap.

Remington was the first to break the silence. Rubbing his hand across his face, when he spoke his voice was devoid of demotion. "Like father, like son, eh?" He turned his head in time to see Laura crinkle her nose, squeeze her eyes shut in reaction to the question, confirming what he'd heard earlier, but had prayed his mind had conjured up in his grief and that it had never, in fact, been uttered at all. "How long, Laura?" The question was asked in a bare whisper it had been so difficult to pass across his lips. He tilted his head, watched as her lips moved but no words came forth, saw the helpless gesture made with her hands before they fell once more into her lap. "How long, Laura?" he demanded now, voice raised, strident.

"Last night. I found out last night." Remington nodded in response, his countenance giving no indication of the emotions raging within him.

"Ah, I see. That little stroll in the moonlight then, eh? The one in which nothing at all was spoken of, if I recall correctly." Laura visibly flinched at the sarcasm underlying his tone, peppering his words. A hand lifted to her face, fingers pinched at the bridge of her nose.

"Yes, and no. It's not what you think. I went to his room, searched it while he was out, trying to figure out what he was up to this time," she began, needing to explain. "I found the watch, the pills. I didn't want to believe it. So I stayed, waited for him to return… confronted him. When you saw us walking last night, I was trying to convince him to tell you, that you had a right to know." Remington turned his head away from her, nodded slowly.

"Yet not an hour later, you had misjudged Daniel, had come to realize he was a 'very fine man', wasn't it?" Laura sighed loudly.

"I went to get him, if you recall. I sent him to you, demanded that he tell you!"

Remington moved from the bed so abruptly that it startled Laura, causing her to jump.

"And instead… instead I got the story of Montague." He spun on his heel, facing her, his face a mask of angst, of betrayal. "How could you not tell me then, Laura? You, who is forever going on about the importance of honesty, of trust? How could you, knowing what this meant to me, keep it from me?" Now it was Laura who lunged from the bed, striding towards him, reaching out a hand to touch him, only to have him move away.

"It wasn't my secret to tell," she said on a rising voice, her distress caused by his hurt, her fear, pushing her to the edge of her emotions. "You deserved to hear the truth from your father!"

"Is it that I deserved to hear it from him, or something altogether else?" He swept a shaking hand through his hair, before laying it at the back of his neck, rubbing there. This was the question that had been plaguing him since he'd heard her speak the words downstairs. She faltered, confused by the sudden turn in the conversation, unable to follow.

"I don't understand. What are you asking me?" She stammered the question out, a sense of foreboding creeping over her, cloaking her in coldness similar to being wrapped in a dripping blanket on a freezing day.

"You've never cared for Daniel, his so-called influence upon me. Were you worried if I learned the truth, he'd finally win this endless tug-of-war the two of you have conducted for the last four years? That I'd at last align myself with him, leaving you behind?" Even as he said the words he'd realized the absurdity of them. His heart contracted at the hurt that flashed across her face, before she stumbled backwards toward the bed, sinking down on it. He could not have stunned her more, wounded her deeper, if he'd struck a physical blow at her. Her voice was numb when she spoke.

"Do you honestly believe I could do that? That I could keep what you've wanted the most for your entire life from you… for my own benefit?" He scrubbed his hands at his face, before going to sit near her on the bed.

"No," he answered resignedly. His head drooping, he rubbed the back of it for several long moments. Turning his head away from her, he shook it slowly. "But then what does all of this speak of me, Laura?"

"What do you mean?" He shook his head again, his hand not leaving the back of his neck.

"I've truly given my trust to only two people in my entire life: one that has left me before for another man then has spent the better part of a month dangling another before me; and the other who would not even claim me as his son. Both of them keeping secrets from me, both denying themselves to me." Standing he picked up his coat and walked to the bedroom door, leaning his head against it when he spoke for the last time. "What does that say about who I am, what I am, that the two people I care most about in this world have locked themselves away from me?" He gave her a final glance and she felt her stomach clench at the haunted look on his pale face, his stooped shoulders and flat eyes which made it appear he had aged a decade or more in the course of a couple of hours. He left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Laura leaped from the bed, prepared to give chase when the full meaning of what he'd said finally penetrated her mind, freezing her in her place. _He knows. Oh my God, he knows about William._ She dropped back down to the bed, wondering where this revelation left them.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Remington

Remington took to his feet, a habit developed over the last few years when he was feeling angry or overwhelmed. It was a simpler form of what he would oft do in his old life: pack up, move on, leaving the circumstances causing his angst behind, not returning until whatever situation it was had died its natural death due to distance and time. Walking helped take the edge off the urge to move on during the worst of days. It was an escape in and of its own right, one that had begun when he'd realized leaving LA was no longer an option. It allowed him to put space between himself and whatever it was causing his duress, and there was little likelihood that he would be found until he was ready to be just that.

At the moment, he had no desire to be found and thus chose the least worn paths surrounding the castle's considerable land holdings. It had been one thing after another since the INS had appeared in his life two months ago and while he'd tried his best to retain some hope in the face of one blow after another, he was losing the battle. Daniel's revelation today then his… death… had pitched him headfirst into a place so dark that he didn't know if he could find his way back.

The last time it had been like this, when… Anna… had appeared alive and well, he'd allowed himself to get lost in the bleakness that had submerged him after her death, the feelings which had returned with a vengeance at her resurrection. It had surrounded him, almost smothered him. He'd taken himself away from Laura because of the conflict, the darkness, the utter confusion when past had collided with present. He'd hurt her deeply in the process and it had nearly cost him everything he valued: her, her trust, her faith, her presence in his life.

He'd been unprepared for the depth of the grief that accompanied Daniel's death. One minute he'd been fine, putting into action Daniel's last plan, his last con. Then, suddenly, he'd been blindsided by the intensity of his loss. For more than half his life, Daniel had been part of his world. Perhaps not near or easily found, but if he'd needed him, he would be able to find him. A single person that for the better part of a two decades he knew cared. Daniel had invested himself in him. Daniel had, in the most fundamental of ways, saved him. Daniel wouldn't have allowed him to go by the wayside. As long as Daniel existed, his own existence had truly mattered.

Yes, yes, he'd had other friendships that had endured across the years. But, as they say, the devil is in the details. There was one thing Daniel had that none of those others did: his trust. Life had taught him well that the likes of Felicia, Shannon, Chalkie, amongst others, would toss him into the fire in order to save their own necks… or to profit. Would lie to him without regard. Daniel had been the only one amongst all of them, that would have perhaps cajoled or sidestepped, but not lied; who would have put himself between that fire and his young protégé. He'd proven it again and again across the years.

Five years ago when Laura had entered his life, that circle of trust had doubled. The number of people to whom it would truly matter if he lived or died, was present or not, had now counted at two. Far more than some had, certainly more than he'd ever expected for himself. A year later, with Mildred's arrival that number had increased to three. It was a bloody bounty of riches. None of which he felt he deserved or even had a right to, but had held close anyway. Treasured. Even clung to.

Yesterday that number had contracted by one and had happened during the most tumultuous period of his life. It had happened as he was already in the process of preparing to grieve for the loss of Laura. Laura who had been living on the edge of her emotions for weeks. Laura who had been slowly, but surely, retreating back into herself and away from him. Laura who would disappear for hours at a time. Laura whom he'd hurt one time too many, whom he'd trusted one time too few. Laura who, when she walked away this time, would do so without ever looking back, the door closing and locking with finality. Laura who had turned to Roselli.

It was more than Roselli, far more. Roselli, while bothersome, was nothing more than a tool in whatever Laura was doing. The games, the flirtations by Laura towards other men in the past, meant to drive him to distraction he had once found amusing, even though they often left his body awash in a blaze of jealousy. But in the past when she would look at him, her eyes would reveal that it was him, and only him, that she wanted. Before, he could look into those beautiful brown eyes and feel in only a moment's time that he had been suddenly lifted to the top of the world, because in those eyes he saw that all his efforts to change had not been in vain: she trusted him, believed him to be worthy.

Now, when he looked into those eyes he saw the indecision, the anger but there was something else there that he could not put his finger on this time.

Shaking his head, he shoved his hands in his pockets and walked towards the pond. And underlying all of it, he admitted to himself, was their physical relationship. It was the electric, instantaneous attraction to her that had convinced him to stay. The need to touch her, taste her, to feel himself buried in her was nothing he had experienced before and he had found himself unable to leave until he had her. Need, he laughed to himself, not want but need. He'd known, even then, that she would change his life irrevocably in some manner, and was surprised to find he welcomed the idea. What had mattered was her and how to have her.

It seemed so simple at first. Seduce her into his bed, satisfy that need, then move on. Only it wasn't simple at all. She constantly threw him off balance. "Hop in the sack you mean? Love to." But wait, we can't complicate the business relationship with sex. She wanted him as badly as he had wanted her – he could feel it, see it - but damn, the woman was smart: she knew instinctively in those early days that once she gave in, he would be ready to continue on to parts unknown. He had claimed the role of Remington Steele made it his own, and she needed him to stay to fulfill that role, so she denied them what they both wanted.

Then when their lips had met for that first time, although their lips had barely touched for a moment, somehow that need had begun to shift. He had been momentarily frozen in place as their lips had parted, unable to process the feelings that had rippled through him, feelings he had not encountered before: a longing for her that made his heart skip a beat in his chest and a sudden feeling of possessiveness of her that had sent his pulse racing. Before her, when he had kissed a woman he had not a doubt in his mind that he would take her to bed before the night was out, so self-assured was he. Those kisses were filled with a cocky self-confidence of the sexual prowess for which he was so well known. But with Laura, that self-assurance had fled and he instead was almost consumed with the thought of what it would take to feel her lips under his again. He was left baffled by the unfamiliar feelings and often dwelled on what those feelings precisely were.

Felicia had zeroed in on what they were with the deadly accuracy of a heat seeking missile within only moments of being near him. Only a few weeks after he had kissed Laura, Felicia had appeared back in his life, immediately throwing a rather large wrench in his quest of Laura. After Laura had fled his apartment believing he and Felicia had just engaged in an amorous tryst, he had been solely focused on getting dressed and following after her so he could attempt to explain things were not as they had seemed.

He laughed to himself now. _Yet something else in my life that changed because of Laura: this vexing need to explain myself, to make things right between us, even when I'd not done anything wrong._

Felicia had had other plans, intending to lure him into bed with her. Finding him, for the first time in their long history, wholly unwilling to trip the light fantastic with her, Felicia had carefully assessed this change in her former lover, and surmised, somewhat sadly, that someone had at last caught him by the heart. He had tried to deny it, to her, himself, but looking back now he knew it was the truth. Somewhere during those few brief months between meeting Laura and Felicia's comment, his needs had grown.

Needs. There was that word again. Before Laura he had never needed anyone as he had her. Not even Anna, during that time when he'd believed they had a future together. The feeling was terrifying both in its newness and its power. Part of him wanted to light out for parts unknown, creating a new name, new identity, and new adventures – to return to the simplicity of the life he had always lived before where he needed no one, counted on no one. But he had found himself unable to do so – not unwilling, but unable. Each time he had begun tossing his belongings into a bag, determined to walk away and never look back, her image would appear in his mind and he would find himself plopping down on the nearest surface and running his hands through his hair as the thought of never hearing the lilt of her voice, feeling the touch of her hand, or seeing those beautiful brown eyes again impeded him from taking flight.

Only a week after Felicia entered and departed his life once more did he acknowledge that he was incapable of never seeing Laura again. Even more vexing was the sudden new predicament that had gripped him as he found that not only could he not leave but he was completely unwilling to share her with another man. The day Creighton Phillips had entered their lives Remington had for the first time in his life experienced the bitter taste of jealousy that sent his world tilting on its axis again. Simultaneously he had realized that as long as he continued to bed other women, there was the very real possibility that someone might claim Laura. The idea was so disturbing to him that he had experienced yet another first, petulantly quizzing Laura about where she had been that night with Phillips. He knew that night that Felicia had been far too accurate in her assessment. Laura had caught him by the heart and he couldn't even say when, though there were many times when he dwelled on the question that he uncomfortably suspected it was at the very moment their eyes had first met.

And that's when sex went from being really simplistic in his world – take a tumble, enjoy the pleasurable release of tension and move on – to very, very complicated. The physical need had not only grown to proportions he would never have thought possible, but suddenly it was complicated by new needs: to see her, to make her smile, to make her laugh, to earn her friendship, to earn her respect… and most of all the need to earn her trust and win her heart. He no longer wanted only her body, he wanted all of her.

Damned if he knew how to win on those last two fronts and God knew he had been trying for years.

 _I know she loves me_ , he thought to himself. _I've seen it in her eyes time and time again in those moments when she unwillingly or forgetfully allowed her guard to slip. I have felt it when our lips touch. I have even seen it in her jealousy. I have seen it when she has stood by me, even when all evidence said she should not. I have felt it in the way she lies in my arms when she sleeps, in the touch of her hands, in all that we have built this last year._

Trust, however, was the roadblock he'd never been able to knock down. Her past – two men that she had loved leaving and never looking back – combined with his own – the consummate drifter, the man with no ties, no name and the mysterious past – was a toxic mix when it came to trust. She had never believed that she, simply for being Laura, was enough to keep him there with her.

There it was, the heart of the matter. He knew, unequivocally, that until she trusted him completely, she would continue to run, making it impossible for him to say those three words she needed to hear. Yet for her, it seemed she needed the words to believe in him, in them. Forever entangled in a catch-22.

When Laura had shut the door on them in Cannes, it had been painful. He'd ached to hold her, feel her lips under his – hell, to simply be in her presence, to hear her laugh, to spar verbally with her, or simply enjoy a lazy afternoon or evening together. He'd had to endure her flirtations with the Neanderthal Butch Beamis, and with her former co-worker Clay Platt. Bugger it, he'd even gone on a double date with her, spending most of that evening wanting to toss her date out on his ear while simultaneously hoping that his own date, Eloise, would be the spark that made Laura end the blasted Cannes agreement. For four months he'd waited for her, and then at last she'd capitulated, had admitted she'd made a mistake. He could still remember the joy, the relief, when he'd finally found her willing lips under his again at long last.

Only four months after that, he'd stood in the departure lounge of LAX and watched Laura leave him for another man. It had crushed him, sending him to London in a desperate attempt to find his real name and offer it to her as proof of his commitment to her. The months he had spent away from her were more difficult than he could ever have imagined. His dreams had been filled with the memories of holding her, tasting her, laughing with her, working with her, playing with her and even fighting with her. Their separation had been so wretched that he had physically ached for her endlessly.

The day he saw her in London, there to bring him home, hope had soared within him. The reunion was difficult at times and they'd had to communicate, honestly, with one another, in order to reach an understanding of what both needed and wanted from the other, but it had been more than worth it. They had returned to Los Angeles, fully committed to one another and the future they hoped to build. They had spent the intervening months truly opening up to one another. Most importantly, Laura had stopped hiding her heart from him. Their relationship had grown in leaps and bounds and they had found themselves holding tight to what they were becoming and only wanting more.

They had become inseparable and the promises of what they could be had suddenly turned into the reality of what they were in the present. So much so, that Remington had begun envisioning something that in his past life he'd never believed he would ever have: marriage, children, family, a home. He still, undoubtedly, battled his inability to say the words she needed to hear, but he had been working hard to reach that place where he could. In the meantime, he strove, each day, to show her by deeds what she meant to him. Yes, there had been bumps in the road, but clinging to what was growing between them, they'd managed to navigate those impediments successfully.

 _Bloody hell_ , he thought to himself. _We not only survived the fight we had at the Freidlich Spa, but came out of it stronger than ever._

In his heart he knew that they had been on the verge of everything wonderful, then the fiasco with the INS had happened, seemingly destroying all they had worked for over the course of the last nine months, what had been between them for years. He'd been desperate to save himself from deportation, desperate to stay with Laura. He silently acknowledged his desperation and fear of losing her had driven him to act foolishly, resorting by instinct to his old con man ways. Yet when his scheme had fallen apart and Laura had willingly agreed to a sham marriage to satisfy the INS and keep him in the country, he had found himself exulting in the results of Keyes's interference in their lives.

While the marriage did not meet the legal letter of law, he made several realizations simultaneously. First, Laura was as unwilling to lose him as he was her. Second, while the marriage might be not 'technically' legal, they would by all purposes have to live as man and wife for the next two years. He had thought it a wonderful opportunity to get their feet wet, believing that before the two years were out he would be able to convince Laura to marry him quite for real. Finally, he realized forged documents and lack of an officiant aside, the moment he'd said 'si' on that boat, in his mind he became her husband, she his wife. Legal or not, in his heart he was very much married and he needed her to feel the same.

Remington shook his head. Swiping a hand through his hair, he returned it to his mouth and continued to worry the thumb nail.

He'd just lost Daniel, the father he never knew he had. There were only two people left in his life now to whom his existence in this world truly mattered. One of those people was holding tenuously to the ties that bound them, prepared to let go at any moment. And it was, of course, the one person that made waking each day truly matter.

This afternoon he'd lost his friend, his mentor, his rescuer and a father. Soon, quite possibly, a partner, closest friend, almost lover, wife, love of his life. In a flash that circle would be down to one. And knowing that he'd be unable to keep Mildred close, as her link to Laura would be too painful to endure, shortly thereafter it would be down to none. Where he'd begun in life, where he knew he'd always end. He'd dared to hope, nearly believe, otherwise for too short a period of time. That was the bloody problem with hope: when it left, it took everything.

Dropping to the ground heavily, he rested an arm on bent knee and bowed his head. He let the darkness of depression wash over him, claim him, too weary to fight it any longer. In doing so, he finally admitted to himself that just as he'd had no power over Daniel's dying, he lacked the ability to keep Laura bound to him. She held all the cards and the only thing left for him to do was to wait and see if she would play to win or quit the table and walk away. Lifting his face to the sky, he prayed for only one thing.

 _Stay with me, Laura. I need you._


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Laura

Laura wandered the pathways of the garden, her fingers plucking at the petals of a flower here, a leaf there. Her first impulse when Remington left their room was to follow her instincts screaming at her that the last twenty-four hours had pushed her normally sanguine Mr. Steele to the breaking point: Daniel's revelation of his true relationship to Remington, Daniel's death, she off running around with Roselli again, and his discovery that she had kept the secret of his parentage from him. But when he'd unveiled a secret of his own – that he knew she'd left him for William Westfield the year prior – she found her normally agile mind incapacitated as guilt had swept away the ability to process rational thought. Twice now she'd kept a secret of enormous proportions from him, either of them capable of seriously damaging what they'd built together, but when combined those secrets had the ability to demolish everything that they were.

She shook her head as her fingers reached for her brow, began to rub. _He wasn't wrong. For years I have been trying to drill into his head the importance of honesty, of trust. I have kept him at arm's length because I didn't know if I could trust him. I ended us in Cannes because he hadn't come to me, trusted me, hadn't been honest with me. I'm still furious that he didn't come to me when the INS showed up, when he turned to Clarissa to save him instead. But have I done any better by him when it really mattered?_

She pressed her hands against her face and bowed her head for a moment, before straightening up, shoving her shoulders back decisively. There were matters to be worked through, decisions to be made, all of which revolved around single question: _What do I want?_

That the answer came so quickly to her, so unequivocally, did not surprise her in the least. _Him. I only want him. All of him._ She took a deep breath and let her mind accept what her heart had always known.

 _He's everything I never wanted._ The thought came to her from out of nowhere, but was so honest in its content that her lips parted on a soft laugh.

He'd come into her life like a tsunami, brewing waters that she'd worked so hard to turn placid, calm… safe. It had taken tremendous effort to pull herself back together after Wilson had walked out of her life. For a while she'd found herself flailing, as she had after her father had left. The old fears, anxieties, insecurities had come back with a vengeance. It had taken nearly a year to get her feet firmly under herself again, a year in which she'd created a bevy of rules for herself, the first of which was that she would never give herself over to another person again. She would stand on her own, rely only on herself. Enjoy an occasional liaison here and there to keep her natural urges satisfied, but she would be a truly independent woman as she'd always meant to be.

Then there he was. Benjamin Pearson. Standing in her office, the air crackling between them the moment their eyes met. The sexual attraction was immediate, almost breathtaking in its intensity. There had never been a doubt that he'd felt it as well, as his eyes sought to make contact with hers throughout the meeting, to the point of all but ignoring Bernice who was making both her availability and interest readily known. Then later that evening the magnum of champagne arrived, followed by him, his innuendos, his charm, his confidence in his prowess. By the end of that evening, she had every intention of ripping his clothes off and rattling _his_ teeth the moment the case was closed, knowing full well he'd rattle her teeth in return.

It, of course, could not be that simple: a liaison to settle her rampaging hormones. The second that he'd revealed himself as the imposter who'd shanghaied the name of her fictitious boss, everything had changed. Oh, the sexual attraction was still there only increasing in its draw, its intensity as time moved on, but now it came in the form of the living, breathing embodiment of her Remington Steele. It was then that everything went from very simple – a mind-blowing sexual encounter from which she would walk away with a wag of her fingertips and a smile – to complicated… so complicated that it put at risk her vow to maintain her independence, to rely on no one, to never, ever let anyone in again. _And my heart, most especially my heart,_ she admitted to herself now.

During the second case they worked together, she'd seen a glimpse of the man underneath the shallow façade he displayed to the world. He'd been guilt ridden by the death of his friend Wallace and had vowed to find his murderer at all costs. So used to being able to rely only on himself, it had never even occurred to him to ask her for help, so she'd volunteered and in that moment a bond had been forged between the two of them, a bond that neither of them had been seeking nor would willingly admit they'd needed to find in another all along. She had, however, acknowledged that in him she'd surprisingly found a kindred spirit – someone else to whom justice mattered, someone else who believed that wrongs should be righted.

Over the next few months she'd learned even more about Remington. During the Deep Water case, she'd learned he needed her to believe in him, and when she'd doubted his veracity, he'd acted with a fervor to prove he'd not carelessly let her down, but had been drug unwittingly into a murder mystery. She'd learned during the Sheldon Quarry case that he had a soft place in his heart for the underdog. The Buddy Shapiro case brought with it recognition that while she possessed the stronger analytical skills of the two, the life he had previously lived made him able to read a person's true nature at almost a glance. With each new case, a new facet of him had been revealed and every new discovery held remarkable appeal. He was an unending mystery that could not be solved. He simply captivated her.

She ran a hand along the back of a wrought iron bench set on the path next to the one on which she strolled. Cutting through the mulched bed, she sat down and drew her knees up to her chest, tucking her coat around herself. Laying a cheek against her knee she continued her contemplation.

The night their lips had first met, albeit it very briefly, had left her reeling. The kiss had touched her in her very core, igniting the physical need but when they had pulled away it was the look on his face that had set her off kilter. It was clear that they both knew something more than physical desire was brewing between them… and it scared the hell out of her. Then the point of no return, for her, had arrived, as he lay on her lap, drunk as a skunk, and admitted to her "I rather enjoyed being a Peppler…they were so good together." She had realized at that moment that he was right: Remington and she were, are, so good together. Once simply captivated, he'd now captured her heart. She'd broken her vow to herself, and could only wait for, and dread, the moment when her bon vivant wanderer would move on, leaving her heart in tatters at her feet.

She'd known from the day he walked into her life that once she went to bed with him he would be ready to move on. She'd known from the Peppler case forward that once she went to bed with him she wouldn't know how to go on without him – she was in too deep. Thus a vicious cycle had begun: her heart reeling him in, needing to be close; her mind shoving him away, needing distance. She knew she'd hurt him, countless times. She'd hated herself for it when she would see the naked pain in his eyes. But she had been unable to stop herself, desperate to protect her heart even if it was at the cost of his.

It was not until she'd left him for Westfield that he'd appeared to have finally given up on his battle to claim her heart, to claim all of her. While she'd spent years living in fear of waking one day to find him gone, it was not until he'd actually left that she realized that somewhere along the way she'd begun to believe that he was there to stay.

She now knew she'd grown too comfortable in that belief. She'd come to realize that she could force distance between them and he'd remain. That she could wound him and still he'd hold on. She'd been confounded when she arrived at his apartment that night and had found he'd at last, finally, moved on. She hadn't understood why _this_ _time_.

With his slip this afternoon, she'd found the answer. He knew that she hadn't simply ended their personal relationship, but had, in fact, left him for another man. For three years he'd pursued her, had made it clear that he'd changed who he was, what he was for her. He'd been her partner, her closest friend. He'd carried her through the loss of her home, had saved her life numerous times. He'd told her often, through word and action, that he cared for her deeply, that she mattered to him. He'd wined her, dined her and romanced her. For three years she'd denied him, and yet it appeared she willing gave herself to another man in a matter of only hours after meeting him.

She felt the tears she despised threatening at the back of her eyes and blinking her eyes rapidly to ward them off, stood to wander the grounds again.

A year ago she'd asked herself how he could leave after all that they'd been through. Now she knew the real question was, how could he have stayed?

Yet, even then, he'd left in search of a name to bring her. Even then, he'd come home with her, to her, without question when she'd gone to London to find him. Despite believing she'd had an affair along the way, he'd allowed her to take their physical relationship at her own pace, never pressuring her for more. He'd relished the days they spent together, sinking into them with her. The only change had been that he no longer allowed her to run when she found herself afraid. Instead, he pursued her, drawing her back in to him.

It was only in time of crisis that he'd lost faith in her. With an aching heart, she remembered their conversation in Mexico, when he'd tried to explain things to her:

 _ **"You've ended us for**_ _ **less**_ _ **before, Laura! Yet I was to**_ _ **believe**_ _ **that when you learned I might be deported, that when you realized the Agency would be put at risk as**_ _ **your**_ _ **mythical 'Remington Steele' would also be deported, that you'd not blame me and end us again?"**_

 _ **"Yes, you were! You hadn't**_ _ **done**_ _ **anything**_ _ **wrong**_ _ **."**_

 _ **"I hadn't done anything**_ _ **the last time**_ _ **you ended us either, Laura. One minute we were fine, then the next… pfttttt… we were done."**_

Her stomach clenched at the memory and she drew in a short, sharp gasp. The only salve to her heart now was that during that same conversation she'd chosen them, what they had together.

Then, only a night later, she'd turned that promise on its ear. Once again, she'd not extended to him the trust she demanded he give her, and believing he'd betrayed her, had made it a point to kiss Roselli long and hard in front of him, before disappearing into the night with the man. Remington could only sit there and watch. Watch as she'd kissed another man. Watch, as in a single action, she put their ruse for the INS fully in doubt. Watch while, during a moment of petulance, she risked sending him to prison for five years, risked losing her investigators license and the Agency.

On the way to London, they made apologies and explanations to one another. They had looked forward to finally commencing their honeymoon, yet once more her temper saw her striking out again. Remington had arrived at the Flamingo Club to find her draped all over Roselli, running her hand across the man's chest, acting seductively. Despite this, he'd given chase, tried to rectify things between them, only to watch, a few hours later, as she flung herself into Roselli's lap, the man's tongue shoved half way down her throat, leaving her gasping for breath and dazed afterwards. Although her reaction was not what it appeared on the surface, she knew what Remington had believed and allowed that belief to stand. It hadn't stopped there either. While she hadn't instigated either encounter, Remington had found her in their bed chamber shortly after she'd shared a clinch with Roselli, and just this afternoon in the city streets she'd allowed Roselli to kiss her, had permitted the man to believe that he still had a chance.

She hadn't been proud of her actions with Roselli. Not for a moment. Yet, she'd led the man on purposefully, encouraging his pursuit of her both because it assuaged her damaged ego after finding Remington with Clarissa at the altar, but also to prick Remington, to make him feel just a little of what she'd felt that day.

His knowing about Westfield changed the face of her actions with Roselli in their entirety. She'd meant to prick Remington, instead she'd wounded him, made him bleed. She understood now, the look of hurt that had preceded his relief, when she'd told him on the plane to London that nothing had happened between she and Roselli the night before. She understood now why the tender way he'd looked at her for years had been replaced by wariness.

If she'd engaged in an affair before, she most likely had again. If she had left him for another man before, she most likely would again. It was yet another testament to who he was and what they'd meant to him that he still continued to try and hang on. But this afternoon, she'd literally felt it when he'd relaxed his grip, preparing to let them go.

For more than four years it was he who pursued, he that had battled for what he believed they could have together while she flailed at windmills. Now after months of being hammered at from all sides, it appeared he no longer had the energy or the will to carry the battle on. She knew that the only way they would survive now was if she picked up his sword and helped him battle his demons, while at the same time surrendering unconditionally to what they were meant to be.

While she could easily and would willingly do the former for him, she didn't know if she knew how to do the latter. Surrendering went against every fiber of her being. She was a fighter. She raged against anything and anyone that demanded capitulation. She had spent too many years shoring herself up, becoming the strong woman she wanted to be. Was she even capable of surrendering any longer?

She closed her eyes and remembered the look on his face when he'd left their room this afternoon: his grief, the injury caused by those he loved withholding the truth, the certainty that he was, for all intents and purposes, alone in the world again. Her mind then wandered to the Perennial case the prior fall: how he'd risked his life to defuse a bomb rigged at the loft of her door; how he'd sequestered them in the Downtown Motor Inn to keep them safe; and to how he'd comforted her as she dealt with the guilt of demolishing the life of a good friend, and innocent bystander, in the process of ending Phil Lightner's murderous campaign.

Could she just simply give herself, her whole self, over to them? She didn't know. Then, turning the curve of the path before her, her eyes strayed towards the pond below her and in that moment she knew.

She could for him.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Detente

Remington still sat on the bank of the pond where he'd settled nearly an hour before. Tangled up in his thoughts and mired down by the darkness that had settled around his shoulders, he didn't hear Laura as she approached. She settled herself next to him, making no contact, waiting until he acknowledged her. Several minutes passed before she recognized that he didn't even know she was there. That, in and of itself, was cause for alarm. She could not recall a time in their years together when he had not sensed her presence the moment she entered the room. Finally, she reached over and took his hand in hers, lacing her fingers with his. She closed her eyes and let out her breath slowly in relief when his fingers clenched, hard, around hers. When she opened them, she found him watching her with lifeless eyes.

"So, where are we?" she ventured, using the words he'd spoken to her on a beach not so long ago. He shook his head slowly before looking away.

"I don't know," he answered dully. She took a deep breath, braced herself for what might come.

"What you said. Upstairs. How long have you known?" His fingers tightened almost painfully around hers as he ran his other hand across his face anxiously, left it lying there as he gave her a sideways glance, all the while shaking his head.

"Since that night." He expelled a puff of air, watched as Laura's eyes closed, as her face contorted at his answer.

"I know I don't have a right to ask, but how?" Her voice was calm and he might have believed her unaffected, except he'd watched as she opened her eyes, blinking her lashes furiously even as fingers lifted to knead a brow.

He rested the side of his head in his hand, watching her speculatively. This was a conversation he didn't want to have, but he was bone weary of the secrets, of all the hiding from each other.

"I'd gone after you, believed you were on the run. I had to try to…" his voice caught and he cleared his throat so he could continue, "… fix things. Saw him board, a few minutes later, you." The words were matter-of-fact, devoid of emotion. Still, her entire body flinched at the words as though he'd physically struck her. Her lower lip quivered, she bit down hard on it, even as she nodded, ingesting his words, accepting them.

"How could you come home with me after… seeing…," she shook her head quickly, unable to say the words, and simply settled for, "… that." He laughed quietly.

"As though I had a choice." She tilted her head to look at him.

"Didn't you?" He mulled her words, tried to find the right ones in answer. Taking a deep breath, he blew it out slowly between pursed lips before responding.

"Not much of one that I could see. I could either learn to live with it, and have you near or learn to live without you. I'd already spent four months away from you, each day a little worse than the last." She nodded, remembering all too well those four months they'd been apart. When his hand gave hers a squeeze, she lifted her eyes to meet his. "Am I going to have to learn how to do that now, Laura?"

Pulling her hand from his grasp, she shook her head, a sad smile on her lips. "Is that what you want?" she asked, as her fingers threaded through the hair above his ear. Without thought, he leaned into her hand.

"No," he rasped. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Standing, she held out a hand to him.

"Can we walk?" He looked up at her bleakly, but stood then took her hand in his. She nudged him back towards the path that she had taken earlier.

"There's something you need to know. There are parts that won't be easy to hear, but I need you to trust me, just one more time." He sighed wearily.

"More secrets, Miss Holt?" She cringed at the name with which he chose to address her. While he'd always addressed her as such professionally, on a personal level he'd only used it when he was feeling particularly close to her, when it would roll off his tongue with a taste of Ireland sprinkled on it, or when he was trying to distance himself from her, with the much harsher English clip, most often when he felt slighted by her. For the last several weeks he'd been referring to her at 'Mrs. Steele.' She knew the use of her maiden name, now, was his way of removing himself one step further from her. She grasped his hand tighter in hers in response, as though keeping him physically tied to her, would keep him from leaving her in his mind.

"No, not a secret," she finally answered. "Clarification." He shook his head and took a swipe at his hair with his free hand.

"By all means then," he replied, the harsh English clip firmly in place though the voice remained tired. She sighed. _Not an auspicious start,_ she noted to herself, but straightened her shoulders and plunged ahead.

"I didn't lie about why I ended us. I _was_ scared. It's always been too easy to lose myself in you, in us, breaking rule after rule that I've created for myself. I'd been in too deep from almost the day I met you. You and I, we'd reached a point that the next step meant no turning back." She paused to look at him, to see if he was listening. Saw his eyes glance towards her then dart away. "It… terrified me. William was… safe. I'd never find myself in too deep with him. I'd never lose myself in him. He was just a genuinely nice, semi-boring guy who believed in the good old Protestant work ethic like me. Just safety. No risks." She paused when she felt, not so much saw, him move away from her.

"No matter how I've tried to change, it will never be enough for you will it, Laura?" The dullness had returned to his voice, as he tugged at her hand trying to free it. She held tight while stepping in front of him, forcing him to stop walking. After an exasperated shake, he turned his head to look away from her. Determined, she laid her free hand against the side of his face, gently nudging until he turned back to look at her.

"That's _not_ what I'm saying, not at all. _Please_ , just hear me out a little longer." He turned his head away from her, but nodded in reluctant agreement. She stepped back next to him and they began to walk again. She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "Yes, I ended us. Yes, I got on that plane. All the way to the airport I tried to convince myself I could do it. But when I sat down next to him, all I could think about was it was supposed to be _you_ sitting there next to me. _You and I_ going away together, _not_ he and I." She inhaled a staccato breath, her voice cracking on her next words. "And I realized, how could it be safe…how could I be safe… if my heart was breaking at just the thought of never being with you again?"

He stopped walking again, but it was he that turned to look at her this time. He studied her moist eyes, her shallower than normal breathing, even as her chin tipped up in her determination to finish what she had to say without breaking. "What are you saying, Laura?" he asked, his voice gruff. She looked him boldly in the eye, so he could have no doubts about the veracity of her words.

"I got off the plane. I got off the plane and went to your apartment, to try to fix things…" Taking a deep breath, she let it out, the tightening of his fingers around hers encouraging her to go on. "… to make love with you. I slept in _your bed_ that night, waiting for you to come home, hoping you'd come home, _needing_ you to come home. Yes, I got on that plane. Then I got off, because it's _always_ been _you_." She closed her eyes and let out a shuddering breath.

"You got off," he repeated on a quiet voice. She nodded her head slowly.

"You didn't have to learn to live with anything. I never even so much as kissed him." Hesitantly, she lay her hand against his cheek. He leaned into it for a moment, before pulling away to swipe a hand across his face in frustration. She blinked, confused by his reaction. "What's wrong?"

"So in the end I'd done what you always believed I would. I left you," he answered, frustration coloring his words. Laura shook her head vehemently, even as he pulled his hand from hers and took several steps away.

"You thought _I'd_ left _you_ ," she pointed out, "You can't look at it like that." He laughed low in his throat, almost bitterly.

"Oh, is that so? What did you believe at the time?" Her eyes darted away from his then back, as her mouth moved and no words came forward. He nodded his head confirming what he knew. "Four months, Laura. Four months of hell for the both of us." He sucked in a sharp breath, ran a harsh hand through the back of his hair as the realization struck him. " _My God_. Had I not gone, my passports would never have been confiscated, there would have been no need for a new one. There would have been no INS…" he swiped hard at his face "… no Clarissa, no Roselli in our lives, no…"

"None of what we've had in the last year," she spoke over him. He stilled at her words. "Do you honestly think we would have gotten out of our own way if we hadn't realized everything we could have lost? If we had to go through what we went through last summer, these past two months to have had this last year, I wouldn't change any of it. Would you?" He rubbed his hand through his hair and looking away shook his head.

"No," he admitted on a long exhale, before qualifying his answer. "Unless it costs us everything in the end." Laura stepped to him then.

"It won't, unless we let it." She closed her eyes, took a deep breath. She knew the moment was at hand. The first step towards giving herself over to what they were, what they had, what they were meant to be. _Go for it,_ she heard Bernice's voice in her head, almost making her smile. Instead she reached up and ran her fingers through his hair. "I want what we had back. _I miss us_." Her hand drifted back to his cheek. "So the question is, what do you want?"

He shook his head, a glimmer of a smile ghosting across his lips, before he wrapped his arms around her. Her arms slid around his neck, as he dropped his head to rest his forehead against hers. "All I've ever wanted is you." She pushed herself up on her tip-toes and buried her face in the crook of his neck, as she palmed the back of his head, pulling him closer to her.

"Thank God for that," she told him lightly, "because I'm not going anywhere, Remington."

"Is it over then?" he murmured the question next to her ear.

She knew without asking what he meant: the anger, the back and forth, the avoidance, the games… Roselli.

"Yes," she answered him simply. She felt it as he let out a long breath, his body shaking against hers in relief. "It's over. I promise." He nodded his head against her shoulder, his arms wrapping even tighter around her.

"I don't know if I can do this without you, Laura," he said on a roughened voice after a minute had passed.

"You won't have to. I'm right here." He nodded again as she felt him shudder for a final time, letting go of the weeks of tension that had held him captive. She kept him close for a couple of minutes, before saying the words that never failed to lighten the mood. "I'm hungry." She smiled against his neck and pressed her lips to it, when she heard him laugh. Releasing her from his grip, he took a step back and claimed her hand in his.

"Then I guess we need to return to the castle and see what we can dig up for you in the larder, eh?"

For the first time in two months he heard the lilt back in Laura's laughter and it gave him hope that they had made it through.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Catching up

Laura aimlessly wandered the lower floor of the castle, keeping her ears peeled for the sound of the front door closing, indicating Remington's return home. For the last hour, as she'd stalked the halls like one of the ghosts haunting the castle, the door had remained infernally silent. _Where is he?_ Over a light snack and tea he'd withdrawn back into himself again, despite his attempts to pretend nothing was amiss in his world, for her sake, she knew. But the day's events had finally caught up with him, and he gave into the grief. He'd left nearly three hours before for the mortuary, to say a final goodbye to his father. She'd wanted to go with him, had all but begged to do so, but he'd held firm, insisting he needed this time alone with Daniel. She had reluctantly released his hand and watched as he walked out the door, shoulders hunched over against his desolation.

She'd expected him to be gone for no more than two hours. A twenty-minute ride into Glenn Cree, an hour – maybe an hour and a half – with Daniel, then the ride back to Ashford Castle. She'd asked the cook to have dinner ready to serve at 8:30, believing that would allow for nearly an hour between his return and their meal, giving him time to talk, to vent. Despite days of Remington being presented with various and sundry bills outstanding on the castle, the cook had readily agreed. The staff knew someone of import in their young Lord's life had passed and all were eager to ease the burden when and where they could for the charming master of the castle. Dinner now lay warming in the oven, awaiting his return.

Grabbing her coat from the closet, Laura spun on her heel and flung open the front door then shut it with a resounding thud behind her. Logic told her that standing in the cold, damp night air would not make him arrive any sooner, or even at all. She had, however, watched practicality leave in the rear view mirror of her mind an hour before. She was running on emotion, a bevy of emotion at that. She traipsed the drive, along the paths nearby, compulsively checking her watch every few minutes, her head often turning sharply to peer down the drive at even the slightest of sounds. Three quarters of an hour later found her easing herself down onto the steps at the front of the castle, tucking her knees up towards her body, her chin resting on folded arms.

Her head snapped up and spun around when she heard the front door behind her open. Had he been there all along, simply tucked away somewhere, keeping to himself while she'd worried herself to the point of near panic, she wondered? She breathed out dejectedly, as she realized it was only Mildred, shrugging into her own coat as she walked down the stairs. Without requesting permission, she lowered herself to sit near Laura, studying the worried young woman carefully, before patting her on the arm.

"The Boss'll be back, you know. Sitting out here freezing won't change where he is or when he comes home. Why don't you come inside? Get warm, eat some dinner, it'll perk you right up."

Laura settled her head more firmly on the arms perched across her knees, then gave her head a small shake. "I'm fine, Mildred," she assured her, "There's no reason to worry about me."

"Easier said than done, honey."

Laura lifted her lips in a brief albeit fake smile. "Really, I'm fine. Go back inside, stay warm. There's no need for both of us to be out here."

"I'm fine right where I'm at." Pretending to take rapt interest in the stars above, Mildred prevaricated, "Besides, it's a beautiful night out. You never see stars out like this in L.A. No, I think I'll just sit here and enjoy it myself for a little while."

Both women fell silent. Mildred continued to pretend to study the stars, while watching Laura out of the side of her eye. She noted each time Laura's head would lift and look down the drive, when the wind would rustle through the trees, when an animal scurried through the woods, and sometimes at no provocation at all. Mildred knew without a word that Laura was standing vigil, much like the love stricken women in her treasured novels who would stand at the windows of a lighthouse waiting for their love to return, wondering if they ever would or if the sea had claimed them. In a way, it was a relief, to see Laura, after weeks of doing everything she could to keep the Boss at arm's length, worrying herself into a tizzy over him. On the other hand, she couldn't stand to see either of her 'kids' hurting, without trying to help them put things in perspective, to put things right.

"It might help if you talked about whatever's on your mind," Mildred prodded quietly. Laura turned her head, laying the side of it on her arms to look at Mildred.

"I'm worried about him, Mildred. These last few weeks have just been too much." Laura blinked her eyes quickly several times, warding off the tickle behind them, then closing them confessed, "He knows about William Westfield." She opened her eyes prepared to see the same censure in Mildred's eyes as she had seen that night long ago in London when Mildred had let Laura know that she'd uncovered her secret. Instead of finding condemnation, she watched as Mildred, unsurprised, simply nodded her head.

"I thought so."

On a gasp, Laura rocketed to her feet, throwing herself into a frantic pace. "You _knew_ , and you _didn't tell me_?" Laura asked, her voice raised in anger and outrage. "How _could_ you Mildred? How could you _keep that_ from me? How could you sit around and watch what I've been doing with Tony and not tell me? I only meant to make him jealous. Do you know what I've done to him? _And you knew_?!"

Mildred stood, hands fisted on her hips. "Oh, no you don't, Mrs. Steele. You don't get to use that tone with me, and don't even think you get to blame me for what _you've_ done. Not only did I have no proof that he knew, only a suspicion after he slipped that night you took off to the beach with that … that… slimeball, but I warned you in Mexico that you were playing with fire."

Laura pressed the back of a hand to her forehead, while holding her other up to Mildred. "You're right, you're right. I'm sorry." She exhaled deeply as Mildred sat back down. "What have I done to him, Mildred?"

"Oh, the two of you've worked each other over good this time, that's for sure. Him, running off and trying to marry the hooker, too afraid to tell you what was happening. You, running around with that snake Roselli, trying to get a little payback. Look where it's gotten you. Both of you miserable, both of you thinking the other is going to leave. When will either of you learn these games the two of you play are going to end up destroying you?"

"I don't know what to say," she answered, throwing up her hands to emphasize her words. "I was angry. Hurt. I wanted him to know what it felt like, when I found him trying to marry… her. I made a mistake," Laura admitted, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"A mistake. I'll say. Running around on your husband only two days after you're married," Mildred admonished her.

"We're not really married," Laura argued, exasperation threading through her voice. "You know that."

"Uh-uh," Mildred disagreed, with a shake of her head and a wag of her finger. "The Boss has been married since the minute the two of you said your vows. You _know_ that. You know as well as I, he no longer refers to you as Miss Holt but only Mrs. Steele, he no longer refers to you as his associate but his wife. Even if he hadn't admi-…" Mildred caught her near slip just in time, refusing to betray Remington's confidence. With a shake of her head, she continued, "Oh, he's married alright. As for you? It took you a bit to catch up, but you're just as married whether you want to admit it or not. All this business about honeymoons, and don't think I haven't noticed how easily you've taken to referring to him as your husband since I got to London. Am I wrong?"

Laura had wandered over and sat back on the steps, her back leaning against the rock wall as Mildred spoke. With her head tipped slightly up and eyes closed, Laura admitted quietly, "Not about me."

"Well it's about time," Mildred exclaimed. "I'll tell you, Mrs. Steele, I was beginning to wonder if you would ever get your head out of the sand long enough to see what's right in front of you before it was too late."

"What do you mean?" Laura asked wearily, craning her neck to look down the drive in response to yet another innocuous sound. She deflated when the drive remained empty, closing her eyes and leaning back against the wall again. _Where are you, Mr. Steele?_

"Him, the Boss. Do you know how many women would kill to have a man love them as much as that man does you? I know if anyone had ever loved me like that I would've grabbed hold and never let go. But the two of you?" Mildred guffawed. "Both of you so damned afraid of getting hurt, of the other leaving, that you do everything possible to keep each other at arm's length. The only difference between the two of you is that he figured it out first and is just waiting for you to catch up."

Her last words caught Laura's attention. "What do you mean he figured it out first?"

Mildred pondered the question for a moment. Throughout the years she had been privy to both of their confidences, although he far more than she. While neither were comfortable discussing their feelings, it was much easier to cajole, or, as the case might be, pry information from him. Mildred suspected she knew what that was, but to admit to the specifics would be a blow to her vanity – after all, what self-respecting woman in her, err, forties would want to admit to be a mother figure to a young man in his early thirties. Still it warmed her heart and there was a special place reserved in it just for him.

"In many ways, he's taken not only more but also harder knocks that you have. They forced him to pay attention to everything he had to lose." Mildred commented vaguely. Even with eyes closed, Laura's raised brows made it clear she patently disagreed with that statement.

"Oh?" she commented acerbically, "I wasn't aware he had watched me standing at the altar marrying someone else."

"No, he didn't," Mildred agreed. "I have a question for you, Mrs. Steele." Laura opened her eyes and looked at Mildred suspiciously.

"Alright," Laura agreed with some hesitation.

"How many times have you had to stand by and watch as the Boss was almost taken from you?"

"The aforementioned wedding comes to mind," she said with some sarcasm lacing her words. Seeing Mildred's frown of consternation, she gave the question some thought. "When Anna was here. Descoines. Buckner." She laughed humorlessly. "Any time his past comes calling."

"And the Boss? How many times can he say the same of you?" Laura was tempted to point out that that was a second question, but her respect for Mildred prevented her from doing so. _Besides, I'm curious to see where she's heading with this,_ she admitted to herself. So, instead, she thought carefully about the question.

"William, of course." She felt fingers of guilt tugging at her heart. "Tony." Those fingers turned into the hard clamp of a hand squeezing tight. Searching her mind, she could find no other examples. "Twice. Only twice." Mildred pursed her lips and nodded, as though agreeing. Then she spoke.

"I think you missed a few." Laura gave her a doubtful look.

"And what exactly have I missed?" she asked.

"Well, let's see. Acapulco when you were kidnapped, and would have been killed if the Boss hadn't gotten there in time. Your house exploding, the Boss knowing you very well could have been inside when it happened. When Veckmer's goons threw that other man off the building and the Boss thought it was you they'd killed. When you were shot and he thought you were dead. When you went over the balcony and fell five stories. When that gang in Malta got hold of you. When Gillespie tried to kill you in the warehouse and the boss heard the shots, thinking he'd find you hurt, or worse. When the Boss was being held by those goons in London and watched you being shot at, not knowing if you were alive or dead. When the Whitehall Strangler grabbed you. The bomb at your loft. When your stalker had you in his apartment. Should I keep going?"

"Those were all in the course of business, Mildred. We both know there are risks." Laura reminded her. Mildred shook her head in disagreement.

"Do you think that made it any easier on him? That each time that he didn't realize what it could have cost? Did it make it any easier for you when you thought Descoines had killed him?"

"Well, no, but…" Mildred shook her head vehemently.

"There are no buts. Just because it's business doesn't mean it doesn't knock the wind straight out of you. But if you want talk about personal, what about that creep Beamis? The Boss could only stand by while you broke his heart literally panting after that…that… caveman."

"We weren't together then, Mildred," Laura pointed out defensively.

"Oh, and that made it easier for you in Malta when you thought, _just thought_ , he was fooling around with that Margaret?"

"No," she admitted.

"My point, Mrs. Steele, is that the Boss has had to face losing you more times than I can count and because of that, he realized a long time ago that losing you is not an option. Have you caught up with him yet? Do you know how much you have to lose?"

Laura looked down the drive, her heart aching at the thought of him out there all alone right now. She remembered the look on his face when he'd left their bedroom earlier in the day, her fears that he was getting ready to let her go and walk away. Then the memory of Christmas morning settled in her mind and with it she recalled how he'd looked at her just before he kissed her after she'd told him…

" _ **One Flexible Flyer, coming right up."**_

Her eyes still closed, she nodded slowly. "I've caught up." She opened her eyes to watch a slow grin lift Mildred's lips.

"Well, it's about time," she said with a sharp nod of her head in approval, her smile fading as she watched Laura turn to look down the drive again.

"A word of advice, Mrs. Steele from an old… older woman?" Laura turned to look at her quizzically. Mildred began pushing herself up to stand as she finished her thought. "I know you need the words. Has it ever occurred to you that he might need them even more than you?" Laura watched as Mildred started making her way up the stairs to the front door.

"Where is he, Mildred?" The older woman turned back to look at the younger one, her face reflecting her own concern.

"He's hurting, Mrs. Steele, and hurting bad at that. Between knowing how badly he messed up with the INS thing, everything that happened in Mexico, Roselli, finding his father and losing him and through it all you blowing in the wind? I suspect he's trying to hide from his grief right now, because Chalmer's death was one blow too many." She paused, reconsidering her earlier stance when she'd told Mrs. Steele that the Boss would come back. While she didn't doubt this, the fact was, the he needed Mrs. Steele's steadying presence more than he possibly ever had before. "The Boss will come home, Mrs. Steele, have no doubt about that. But I have to ask… why is he out there alone in the first place? I've never once known you to step away when he really needed you… even when he asked."

Laura stared after Mildred as she walked through the front door and closed it behind her. Slowly rising as she realized what she needed to do, she turned towards the front door then strode up the stairs as quickly as her legs would allow. _Mildred's right. It's time to find him and bring him home._


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: For Better or Worse

Laura found Remington in a small pub just off the main road in Glen Cree. It hadn't taken long, as nearly everything was locked up in the sleepy little hamlet at ten o'clock on a weekday night. Spying him sitting on a stool at the bar, she quietly signaled to the bartender to pour one of whatever Remington had, then slid onto a stool next to him. That he'd not even noticed her sit down beside him spoke of one of two things: he was either shockingly in his cups or turned deeply inward. She glanced at the bartender, the question clear on her face. He scrunched his lips and lifted his brows at her while shaking his head and holding up a single finger. Clearly, then, it wasn't the former.

Reaching over, she stroked her fingers over the back of the hand nearest her. When he turned his head to look at her, her heart clenched at seeing the blue eyes usually lit with good humor so dulled by loss and remorse. Unable to help herself, she picked up his hand and pressed her lips against his palm. He exhaled deeply at her gesture, but his eyes never changed.

"I've been worried about you," she told him on a soft voice.

"Just stopped round for a few minutes to lift a pint to Daniel," he offered by way of explanation. She glanced at the full mug before him and lifted her brows.

"How's that going?" she asked lightly. With a forlorn look, he turned away and hung his head. Silence stretched long and thick between them.

Feeling awkward and unsure of what do to next, after several minutes Laura lifted the ale to her mouth and took a sip. Grimacing, she set the mug down and pushed it away. Resisting the urge to seek out her brow, she toyed with the napkin on the bar in front of her.

"Go home, Laura," he said wearily, breaking the silence at last. "I'm not fit company right now."

"Nothing doing," she answered mildly. She returned to twiddling with the napkin as silence again descended, drew out.

"I don't know how to do this." The words rasped painfully across his lips. "To… bury… my oldest friend…" His voice caught. Drawing in a shuddering gulp of air, he finished the sentence. "… a father… My father…"

Laura lifted her hand, smoothed back his hair over his ear. "Feeling lost?" He expelled the air on a whoosh of sorrow.

"Yes." He answered, his voice gravelly with emotion.

Laura slid down off her stool and squeezed herself between him and the bar, a snug fit, an uncomfortable one, but she didn't notice, her focus fully on him. Clasping his head in both of her hands, she nudged up his head until he was looking at her. Her fingers fondly brushed back the unruly lock of hair, before skimming down his cheeks.

"I made you a promise in Vail that I would always find you." She blinked her eyes several times against the ache in her heart born from the depth of his sorrow. "I, promise you, Remington," she lay her hand back against his cheek, "When you get lost, I'll find you and we'll make our way through together. You're not alone. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. We'll get through this together, as we do everything."

She stilled as he studied her, made certain her conviction was clearly seen. She watched as he clung to the hope, watched as it waffled, then repeated herself. "You're not alone, Mr. Steele." She pressed her lips briefly against his. "For better or worse, remember? I'm not going anywhere and if you do, I _will_ find you." Saw the moment his hope that her words were true took hold. Palming the back of his head, she drew it down to her shoulder. He hesitated then wrapped his arms around her, drawing her tight against him, desperately holding on.

"I'm so bloody tired, Laura," he murmured against her shoulder. Her hand tightened against the back of his head.

"I know," she nodded, her voice quaking with tenderness. "I know. Let's go home, huh?"

She felt him nod against her shoulder. Keeping him close, she fumbled with a single hand for her purse and without regard as to how much, tossed several bills up on the bar. With a gentle nudge she disentangled herself from him, then after brushing her lips against his a final time, grasped his hand firmly and led him from the bar.

* * *

They lay in bed in silence. Laura's hand ran up and down Remington's t-shirt clad side as it had for the better part of an hour, trying to offer him strength, comfort, to assure him of her presence. His fingers had been playing with the ends of her hair throughout, his own way of reminding himself she was near. When his hand stilled in her hair she thought he'd at last dropped off into sleep, so when his strained voice rippled through the darkness of the room she started slightly.

"Did you mean it, Laura?"

She lay quietly a moment, trying to discern what he was specifically asking about. She closed her eyes when she narrowed it down. In many ways her answer now would signify the crossing of a line which forbade any back peddling or double-stepping later on if… or almost assuredly when… any doubts crept in. Like Remington Steele's word was his bond, so too was Laura Holt's, perhaps even more so as it was she that had imbued him with honesty.

"For better or worse?" she sought to confirm, her whisper shimmering on the air between them.

She felt his stiff, wordless nod in answer to her question. Her hand stilled, then searched for his in the dark, binding their hands together with threaded fingers when found. She nodded before she ever spoke.

"Yes." The single word was little more than a whisper, but spoken with a definitive conviction that it charged the air around them.

Remington closed his eyes, dragging in a deep, jagged breath of air. Clenching the hand that held his, he tipped his head down to buss the top of her head. Laura nuzzled her face against him where it lay, acknowledging the significance of what her single word entailed.

The room stood in stillness, broken only by the sound of his stilted breathing.

"Do you… think… he… knew, Laura?" The words came haltingly. "I never…"

"He knew you loved him," she nodded against his chest. "I'll have to tell you some time about the night he and I danced at your apartment," she laughed quietly at the memory. "He was _so proud_ of you."

At her last words she felt him quake beneath her, before his chest began to heave. Pulling her hand from his, Laura rolled to her back and with a gentle nudge to Remington's shoulder, drew him down to her. His arms clutched her to him while he sobbed as he hadn't since he was a lad in knickers, watching through the rearview mirror as another family turned him away. Laura bore the weight of his grief in that mighty way of hers, knowing only the strength of her presence would lend him comfort. As an arm held him pressed against her and a hand weaved through his hair, Laura allowed the wetness to slide past her lashes freely, regretting the man lost but even more so the heartbreak of the son left behind.

* * *

Remington jerked to a sitting position, a sheen of sweat coating his hair and covering his skin. It had been nearly impossible to extract himself from the nightmare, it had taken such a stronghold in his mind. When he'd finally been able to free himself from the mire, it was to awaken with his heart pounding and breath heaving with such force that Laura scrambled to her hands and knees on the bed. Moving quickly she straddled his lap then wrapped herself around him while drawing his head down to her shoulder. She held him tight against her as he sucked in huge gulps of air, trying to shake loose the remnants of the fear the dream had evoked.

The dream in which he'd watched through the rearview window until Daniel and Laura faded from sight, leaving him alone in the world once more.

"It's okay, it's okay, I'm here, I'm here," Laura repeated the words like a mantra until his breathing returned to a modicum of normal and she could no longer feel his heart pounding against her own chest where she clutched him to her. When he at last let out a shuddering breath and relaxed against her, she prodded, "What was it?"

He lifted his head from her shoulder and even in the darkness she could see his haunted eyes. "Daniel…you…both gone," he stammered, his fingers clenching her sides so hard she felt herself bruise. She felt the tears threaten, blinked them back, knowing above all else, he needed her strength right now. Grasping his head in her hands, she dipped down until he was looking her in the eye.

"I'm _not_ going _anywhere,_ " she told him emphatically. "For better or worse, remember? I'm _not going anywhere_." He drew a deep, ragged breath at her words, his eyes searching hers for assurance. When he found what he was seeking, he expelled the breath on a whoosh of air, then seemed to drain right before her eyes. At the tap of his fingers on a hip, she scooted off of him and watched as he curled up on his side on the bed. Laura lay back down in front of him, wiggling herself backward until she was spooning herself against him, then drew his arms around herself.

"I'm so tired, Laura," he told her on a strained voice, for the second time that evening.

"I know," she answered quietly, drawing his hand to her mouth, and pressing her lips against his palm. Threading his fingers with hers, she tucked their joined hands between her breasts. "Get some sleep, Remington. I'll be here."

He nestled his chin on top of her head and a few short minutes later, she felt his arm go lax against her. Sleep did not claim her as easily.

It was not Remington's sudden movement that woke her, or his labored breathing. She'd been jarred awake when he'd yelled out her name, stark fear reverberating through it. He hadn't realized and she'd never tell him. Yet, she knew it was a sound that she'd always remember and never, ever wanted to hear again.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Words from a Father

When Remington woke in the morning, Laura was gone. His hand smoothed across the cool sheets, a testament to how long it had been since she'd laid next to him. The thought that she'd changed her mind, was prepared to run, sent panic coursing through his blood. He bounded out of bed, calling her name, hearing no reply. On bare feet, he moved quickly across the cold floor of the bedroom, and slinging open the bathroom door, found it empty. Crossing the room to the bedroom door, he tried desperately to quell the urge to break into a run.

"Laura," he called out, cringing at the sound of desperation that had threaded its way through his voice. When the halls remained eerily quiet, he headed quickly for the stairs that would take him to the main rooms below. He bounded down the steps, slipping on the first landing, rapping his knee soundly into the solid banister. On a muttered curse, he walked-hopped, down the remaining steps and called out for her again. The silence that greeted him, clamped around his heart like a fist. His breathing grew ragged, his battle weary mind convinced that she'd gone.

He limped his way down the hallway to the library that held the books she adored, and found it as cold as fingers that held his throat in a stranglehold. He backtracked, towards the front door. Slinging it open he bellowed out her name.

Down the hall in the kitchen, Laura heard him yell for her, the note of desperation lacing the two syllables so startling her that she dropped the plate she'd just taken from the cabinet. Racing from the room, she skittered as fast as her legs would carry her down the hall, until she entered the foyer where she found him, head resting against the door jamb, chest heaving.

"Mr. Steele," she spoke softly from behind him. Hearing her voice, he spun on his heel, fear and panic turning to blinding relief. In two long strides he reached her, and yanked her into his arms clasping her to him. Wrapping him in her arms, she returned the embrace. "What's wrong? What happened?" she asked, trying to remain calm herself.

"I thought you'd left," he managed to get out, "Changed your mind." Turning his face into her neck, he forced himself to breathe deeply, her cherished scent calming his splintered nerves.

"I'm right here," she told him quietly, stroking her hands through his hair. "I was just getting us some tea, some toast. I'm not going anywhere." He felt him nod as he relaxed against her. With a scruff of his hair she told him, "Go back to our room. Shower. Change. Since you're awake, I'll have the cook make us something for breakfast. How does that sound?"

By sheer willpower, he extracted himself from her with a nod and headed towards the stairs that would take him to their room. Laura stood, watching him as he ascended.

"Remington," she called out as he reached the first landing. He turned to look at her, silent. "I'm not going anywhere." He considered her for several moments then nodded and turned to continue on his way up the stairs.

Laura's fingers reached for her brow. He was on the brink of crisis, she knew it in her bones and she didn't know how to keep him from stepping headlong into it. On a staccato exhale, she returned to the kitchen to get them tea and now breakfast. Perhaps, after they ate, her normal clarity would return and she could come up with a plan.

* * *

Remington stripped down and stepped under the hot spray of the shower. Bracing an arm against the wall in front of him, he leaned heavily upon it. The last time it had been like this, when… Anna… had 'died', he'd allowed himself to get lost in the darkness brought on by loss, by guilt. When he made it through, he'd vowed never to allow himself to care that much again. He had successfully avoided entanglements since early adulthood, and in breaking the rule to never let another person matter to him again, he'd paid dearly.

Then, he'd met a captivating, amber eyed beauty that had stolen his heart before he even realized she had. When he did, it was too late to turn back, impossible to move on. Somewhere between the time they met that first day in her office and the night he'd clung to her hand as she dangled from a beam high off the ground, she'd become… everything. He'd realized that night his grief of losing Anna would have paled in comparison to what losing Laura would have been. In her words, he'd found himself in too deep. Losing her was not an option.

For a man who had avoided emotional attachments most of his life, have lost one of the people he held most dear even as he and Laura were struggling to hold on to what they had, he was overwhelmed by the sheer ferocity of the emotions bombarding him. He desperately needed to shift into one of his many personas that had served to get him through trying times throughout his life. Yet, the ability to do so had abandoned him. He was left floundering, with not a single notion of what to do.

Stepping out of the shower, he dried off then dressed before adjourning to their bedroom to sit before the fire and wait on Laura's return. Lost in his bleak thoughts, it took a moment for his mind to register the light tapping on the bedroom door. Believing Laura must have her hands full and need assistance with the door, he pushed himself to his feet and crossed the room. It was Mickeline, however, who stood on the other side of door when he swung it open.

"I be beggin' yer pardon, yer Lordship. One of the maids found this amongst yer friend's belongin's as they squared his room as ye requested. As it was addressed to yer Lordship, I brought it straight 'round." Mickeline extended an envelope to Remington. Remington stared at it for several long moments before taking it.

Taking a step back when he saw "Lord Steele" written upon the envelope in Daniel's elaborate scrawl, he closed his eyes and clenched his fist, crushing the envelope in his folded fingers. Without a word, he grabbed his coat off the back of a nearby chair and pushed his way past Mickeline and out of the room. Mickeline scurried after him, disconcerted that he'd clearly upset the young Lord in some manner.

"Me apologies, me Lordship. I'd no intent on upsettin' ye. I thought ye'd want it brought straight to ye given…" Mickeline's words trailed off as Remington slammed out the front door, never looking back. With a sigh, he pulled the remaining two envelopes from his pocket and went in search of Laura.

Laura was setting the last plate of eggs, sausage and bacon – Remington's favorites – on a tray already overloaded with croissants, fruit, juice and a tea service when Mickeline entered the room. He immediately echoed the words he'd spoken to Remington just a few minutes before.

"I be beggin' yer pardon, yer Ladyship. One of the maids found these amongst 'is Lordship's friend's belongin's as they squared his room as 'is Lordship 'ad requested. As they are addressed to yer Ladyship, I brought them straight 'round."

Puzzled, Laura took the envelopes from Mickeline and scanned the front of both. Only her name was written in a fancy script on both envelopes. Why would Daniel write her a letter, let alone two of them? It baffled her, and her ability to think stalled for a moment before kicking back into full gear, as the hairs on the back of her neck stood at full attention. She looked at Mickeline with alarm.

"Was there a letter for my husband as well?" she asked, icy calm in her inflection of each word.

"Yes, mum, there were. I've already delivered it to 'im, personally." Mickeline assured her. Laura closed her eyes and shook her head, before looking at the man again.

"Thank you, Mickeline. If you don't mind having someone bring our breakfast up to our room, I'm just going to go check on my husband."

"Oh, 'e's not there, mum. Oddest thing. Stormed right out 'is Lordship did, the moment 'e saw the letter." Laura pressed the back of her hand against her forehead.

"Did you see where he went?"

"Left the castle on foot, mum, not more than two minutes ago now." Laura sighed deeply, knowing there was little chance she'd find him now, but still, she had to try.

"Thank you, Mickeline." She glanced at their breakfast, waiting on the counter and gave another sigh. "Can you please have the cook keep this warm? If we're not back in an hour, if she could make us up a cold lunch and just wait for our return, I'd appreciate it."

"Of course, yer Ladyship. It would be my pleasure."

For the second time that morning, Laura scrambled through the hallways towards the front door. She uttered a short curse as she realized her coat was upstairs where they'd left them the evening before. Glancing up the steps, she released an annoyed puff of air at the delay retrieving her coat would cause, then turned and left the castle without it.

* * *

She searched the grounds for Remington for the better part of an hour and a half, thoroughly checking the land around the pond, the gardens, everywhere and anywhere that he might have traveled on foot. She knew the man could walk for hours when distressed, and in the past had allowed him the time he needed to walk it off. Yet on the heels of her promise to him again last night that if he left she'd find him, she'd become almost obsessive about doing just that now. It was not lack of will but the weather that finally ended her search, sent her back inside the confines of the castle, teeth chattering, skin bright red from the cold, her entire body quaking.

She encountered Mickeline on the stairs, coming down as she was going up, intent on retrieving her coat and resuming her search for Remington. He looked at the Lady of the castle with alarm. She was clearly frozen straight through to her bones. In opposition to his station within the household, he wrapped an arm around her and ushered her up the stairs to the master suite where he insistently set her on the couch in front of the fire. Laura stood back up immediately.

"Just… getting… my… coat," she chattered. "Need… to… find… my… husband."

Mickeline was having none of it. Assisting her back to the couch, he wrapped the bedspread from the bed around her.

"No, mum. 'is Lordship would 'ave all of our 'eads if something were to 'appen to ye on our watch. Ye stay 'ere and get warm. I'll be havin' the staff search the grounds for 'im I will. Yer to stay right 'ere, yer Ladyship. I'll be sendin' some 'ot tea up to ye the moment I get the staff a searchin'. Ye'll be doin' 'is Lordship no good if ye freeze to death whilst lookin' for 'im." He paused and looked at Laura, recalling the stubborn, young miss he'd seen playing spy games the last few days with a frown on his face. "I'll be 'aving yer word, yer Ladyship."

Laura glanced up at him dully, caught up in the misery of her frozen body. With a sharp wave of her hand, she managed to force out, "Yes… Yes… just… find…him… and… get… me."

"I'll be doin' just that, yer Ladyship. Someone will be up in two shakes." Mickeline spun on his heel and left the room hastily, off to gather the staff to locate their young Lord.

On the couch Laura gathered her knees up to her chest and tucked herself up tighter in the blanket.

"W-where are y-you M-Mr. St-steele?" she asked aloud, teeth still clacking violently, by no means expecting an answer.

* * *

Remington had circled the grounds on foot for the better part of an hour before tucking himself inside an old carriage house on the property. He needed to be alone while he attended to Daniel's letter to him, but needed out of the elements as well. Early mornings in Ireland were cool, evening in the spring months, and this year the weather was cooler than normal with the mercury hovering in the 30's this morning, a cold wet wind only making it the chill all the more biting. It was quite one thing to walk in weather such as this, and yet another to sit and read.

Remington dropped down on an old wooden chair that seemed stable enough to hold his weight and considered the letter he'd retrieved from his pocket. Smoothing out the wrinkles caused by him crushing it in his hand, he mumbled to himself, "Alright, old sport, get on with it." Removing his glove, he closed his eyes and slipped his finger under the flap, popping it open. Only when he withdrew the sheets contained inside did he look down at the papers in his hand. With a deep breath, he settled in and began to read:

 _My dearest Harry –_

 _If you are reading this letter, then the Grim Reaper has at last won the battle and has taken me home. I hope to find the  
courage to speak with you before that time has come, but in case I continue my display of the remarkable cowardice I  
have shown the last two decades, it is from me that the truth should come. Your Laura ferreted out my secret, and it is  
not right that she should carry the burden of the truth with her after I am gone and I fear, in making her do so, I will  
_ _cause you to lose what matters most to you._

 _In all the years we've known one another, I've never told you the story of the most exquisite lady to ever grace my life.  
Never before had I been so intrigued, so captivated. Hair the color of ebony, eyes the color of sapphires, sleight of build,  
yet tall of stature. She was grace epitomized in all that she did: in the manner she spoke, carried herself, in how she  
treated those around her with care. Nearly a decade younger than I, she'd run from an abusive home two years prior and  
set out on her own. My, but she had a strong will, determined to make it in the world on her own, wanting only to be free  
of the brutality of her former life. I knew her only as Fiona Duffy, the name she'd taken as her own after she'd run. To  
_ _myself, she was simply my lovely Fi._

 _I was still too young, too foolish to recognize what was truly important in life during those days. I loved Fi beyond reason,  
but not enough to resist the lure of seeing through my largest caper to date. I had justified the risk, in my own mind,  
believing the rewards would set us up to live a fine life, Fi and I, for many years to come. My greatest heist, my last heist,  
or so I believed at the time. Instead of the extraordinary success I believed it would be, it was in fact my downfall. Caught  
in the act I was imprisoned for five years. It was during my time there that the letter arrived written by a neighbor who had  
acted as midwife to my Fi. She believed I'd the right to know that my lovely Fi had died giving birth to her child, my son.  
_ _Alone in the world with no family to speak of the lad had been turned over to the Church to be placed for adoption._

 _I raged at the world when I heard the news, Harry. For the better part of the year I had been mourning the loss of my freedom,  
while feeding my anger towards Fi. In my eyes, she had abandoned me in my time of greatest need. In her eyes, I had  
abandoned her when I betrayed my promise to her that my days on the shadowy side of the street were in the past. It was only  
in Fi's death and the loss of my only child, that I understood the true cost of that caper gone wrong and knew, beyond repair,  
_ _that the cost had been far too high._

 _After my release, I wandered for years, returning to the life I knew, trying to bury myself in it. Several years had passed before  
I recognized that while the life satisfied material needs, it would never fulfill my one true need: to find my son, know that he  
was safe, know that he'd grown up loved as his mother would have wished. I set out to find him, only to run into one dead end  
after another. The neighbor who'd notified me had long since left, and the foundling's home had long before shut its doors. I  
returned to London, after a time, a broken man, knowing I had lost what was truly most valuable in life: the woman I loved  
_ _and my own child._

 _It was an act of fate that I stumbled across my son one day on the streets of London when the lad tried to pick my pocket. By  
then, he was an angry young man, always looking for a scrap. Life had treated him harshly, tossed him about from family-to-family  
during his early years, then for many years after that was left to find his own way while living on the streets as no child should.  
_ _You know the rest of the story, Harry, as that young man was, of course, you._

 _I celebrated finding you, Harry, determined to right the wrongs that had been done to you even while I cursed my own inability to  
tell you who I was to you. By that time you had worked up such an anger towards your father, that I feared by assuaging my own  
needs to claim you as mine, I would ultimately lose you. I had learned years before the cost of risk, and that was a cost I was not  
_ _willing to pay. No, better to have you by my side as protégé and friend, than lost to me for good._

 _I have marveled at watching you grow, first into a young man, and then into the man you are today. From living on the streets, to  
acquiring a remarkable set of skills, becoming one of the truly gifted of our trade, and then, at last, to become the world-renowned  
detective, Remington Steele. I'd always known you were meant for more than this world, my world, and that one day it would be  
unable to contain you. You have too much of your mother in you for that: her grace, her kindness, her need to help others. As you  
_ _resemble her in appearance more than I, you resemble her more in heart, as well. For that I cannot be more thankful._

 _Your Laura saw that in you. And you, wiser than your father, recognized that the woman before you was the treasure, not the  
_ _fortunes that could be had living elsewise._

 _It seems, Harry, that your Laura and I have battled for years in order to claim ownership of you. Your Laura, she is a fighter, that  
girl, and I don't think she ever realized that I knew the first time I saw you look at her that it was a battle that had been won by her  
_ _before it even began._

 _She loves you Harry, I suspect even more than you love her. I have watched this dance of yours and hers for years now, towards  
each other and then away, both of you battle scarred and terrified of losing once more. Yet it was clear that the two of you were  
destined for one another – kismet, if you will. She has brought a peace to your heart, Harry, that I have prayed for you to find since  
_ _I found you. She is the home you never had and always wanted._

 _You could try to run from it, you could try to deny it, and that would make you a fool. I hope I have done better by you than that. I  
hope I have taught you to live in the today and not the past. There are few men, Harry, who have been so fortunate as to find their  
soul mate. I was one of those men when I found your mother, and the look in your eyes is one that I know all too well as it is the one  
_ _I saw in my own eyes in the mirror when I was with her._

 _I admit, I have enjoyed planting seeds of doubt in both of your minds, to pretend to believe this love the two of you share was  
nothing but a passing and amusing dalliance. I knew those seeds would not take, and I knew both of you would dismiss my behavior  
as being such foolishness. I hope you know, in my own way, I was trying to make each of you realize that you should hold on tightly  
to what you have. Both of you stubborn to the core, I knew with each word to the contrary, the two of you would battle to prove that  
_ _it was too each other that you belonged. As it should be._

 _Love should never be easily let go._

 _I have seen the look on your face in recent days Harry, when that Roselli chap is around and you believe no one is paying mind. I have  
seen the concern in your eyes, on your heart, that you believe you may be losing her. While others see your nonchalant grin, I see the  
truth. I have wanted to shake you and ask "What are you doing, my boy? Fight. End the games and tell her how you feel, then Roselli  
_ _will fade away into nothingness._

 _It's not Roselli you are fighting to win her heart, once and for all. It is Laura, herself, with whom you must do battle, in every way  
_ _possible._

 _Your Laura is a proud woman Harry, a woman who has spent a lifetime determined to take care of herself, to allow no one to control  
her destiny. Can you be surprised, then, that she feels the power over her own life was ripped from her hands when she was faced  
with a choice of either entering into a marriage to save you from deportation, or to watch you be torn from her life if she did not? You  
_ _are taking the heat for that right now, my son, as she rages against the manner in which she finally "won" the battle._

 _I know all too well that you have not allowed her to know that this is where you always pictured the two of you at the end of the day, for  
the mere thought of that by either of you would have sent you both scurrying away once more. I know how you struggle with words  
when it comes to emotions, how you do not trust them. Can you wonder why, then, she is trying to run now? She lost the ability to control  
her destiny. She lost the right to know you married her for her and her alone – and not for the documentation that would keep you in the  
_ _States._

 _I wager there is only one thing left that she feels she has control over now, Harry, and that is her heart, the heart she has tried to protect  
_ _for so long. It is for this reason that she is trying with all her will to keep you from capturing it right now._

 _I do not fear my death, Harry. As they say, there is a time for everything, and when my time does, raging against it will do no good. What  
haunts me now is not the thought of the moment that I take my last breath, it is the thought of looking down upon you from wherever I  
am and seeing the grief, the pain, the hopelessness again that I saw on your face the day you believed Armstrong's men may have killed  
your Laura. I have seen that look in my own eyes in the mirror as well, as I have carried the great weight of lost love with me since the  
day I found out your mother had died._

 _Learn from your father's mistakes, son._

 _If you give up and allow her to walk away, it is a grief that foolish heart of yours will not be able to withstand._

 _I took for granted that once I had captured love it could not be taken from me, yet it was. I took for granted that I had all the time in the  
world to show your mother how much I cared for her, and I didn't. I believed I always had tomorrow to say the words she needed to hear,  
_ _and then tomorrow never came._

 _I may not have been much of a father in life Harry, but I hope to be a better father in my death._

 _Laura loves you so deeply that she can no more hide her heart from you forever, than she can give it to another. Take the risk Harry.  
Share with her pieces of your past that will allow her to understand you are not hiding it from her, so much as you are refusing to relive  
the pain of the moments she does not yet know. Give her the words that allow the past to be buried once and for all. Frolic with her, and  
bring back the sparkle to her eyes. Romance her, and give her back the blush to her skin. Dance with her under the stars, and remind  
her that it is you that follows her in her dreams. Kiss her, and leave her breathless. Love her, until you make her ache so bad that only  
_ _you can fill her._

 _It is then that she will be yours forever._

 _I will be watching over you, my son. You were the greatest blessing of my life and I could not have been more proud. Let go of the  
_ _past and grab onto your future, and never let it go. Do not live with regret, as I have._

 _Daniel_

Remington swiped at his face when he finished reading his father's last words to him. So many truths, so long in coming. Overwhelmed, he didn't know if he should laugh… or cry. There was only one thing he knew for certain.

He needed to find Laura so she could help him work through it all with that ever logical mind of hers.

* * *

Although the carriage house was a good twenty-minute trek by foot from the castle, Remington made fast work of it, arriving in fifteen. Sometime between the time he'd left the castle, Daniel's letter in hand, and the walk back, the black cloud that had hung heavily around his shoulders since the afternoon prior had begun to lift ever so slightly. By the time he ascended the stairs towards their room, he'd determined a plan for the afternoon. He was not particularly looking forward to it, but had taken Daniel's advice to heart. Now, it was simply a matter of getting Laura on board and given the strain between them the last weeks, there was no guarantee it would be an easy feat.

Laura was sitting on the floor by the fire, blanket tucked around her, keeping as close to the heat of the flames as possible, a cup of tea tucked up in her hands. Hearing the door open, she looked over her shoulder craning her neck to see past the sofa behind her. Seeing it was Remington entering, she exhaled hard and fast, relieved that he seemed no worse for wear.

"Where… did… you… go?... I… was… worried," she managed to get out with some struggle. Brow furrowing at her stuttered speech, he rounded the couch and squatted down in front of her, noting her chattering teeth and the shivers rocking her body.

"Never mind that now. At the moment, I think we need to concern ourselves with you." He took the hand holding her blanket into his. Bright red, it was cold as ice. Taking her hand back, she clasped the blanket closed around her again.

"I'm… I'm… fine," she chattered. He lifted a brow at her.

"Yes, I can see that. You ordinarily resemble a bowl of cherry gelatin, quivering as you are." He nudged the blanket away from her.

"What… are… you… _doing_?" she chattered, then gave a small frown finding it frustratingly difficult to convey irritation when she couldn't even string two words together. Settling in behind her so she was tucked between his legs he wrapped the blanket around both of them.

"Body heat, Laura. Seemed to serve us well a few times in the past as I recall, and right now, we need to get you warm. Hold the blanket and give me a hand." He felt a shiver course through her body, violently shaking her small frame. Drawing her tighter against him, he willed his body heat to help her warm. "Dare I ask?" as he took a hand and began briskly rubbing it.

"Mick…Mick…Mickeline… told me… a…about… the… letter," she answered, as though the answer provided sufficient explanation and given their years together it did.

"Ahhh," he hummed. "Forgot your coat then did you?" She turned her head and frowned up at him, which only earned the arch of a brow in return. She squirmed her way closer to him, greedily soaking up the heat emanating off him. With a pat of her hand, he let it go. "Give us the other then," he told her, waiting until she'd switched with the hand holding the blanket shut, then placed her free hand in his. Gradually, her teeth stopped chattering and the shivering abated. The moment her own misery was at bay, she focused her full attention on him. She shifted slightly in his arms, leaning back to look at him.

"Are you okay? You had me worried, running off like that." Her voice moved from concerned to a trifle piqued. He mulled the words.

"A bit better at the moment. Preoccupied, perhaps, by Daniel's letter." He watched her innate curiosity spark in her eyes, always the detective even in their most private of moments. To give her credit, she tamped down the dozens of questions that raced through her mind, and settled on a rather sedate inquiry.

"Did it provide any information of interest?" He pursed his lips and gave his words careful consideration.

"Thought provoking, is a more apt description, I think." She squelched the urge to pry more information from him, yet wanted a gauge on whether the letter would be one thing more threatening to break him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Without even realizing it, he nodded his head in answer, although his words contradicted the action on their surface.

"A little later, perhaps. I was hoping to discuss another matter with you at the moment." At Laura's inquisitive look, he cleared his throat, and forged on. "I was wondering if you'd accompany me… That is if you'd be willing… to go somewhere with me this afternoon." His hesitancy acted as a barometer of his emotions for her. _Still off kilter. He's never been hesitant about asking me to go anywhere with him. If anything, exactly the opposite and confident in my answer before he'd even pose the question._

"What do you have in mind?" she asked, cocking her head.

"A little trip, lunch along the way I should think." She nodded her head slowly.

"Alright," she answered, drawing out the word. "When would you want to leave?" Pulling an arm out of from under the blanket, he glanced at his watch then did some quick calculations.

"We've a bit of a drive ahead of us. Within the hour?" Laura released the blanket from around them and pushed herself to her feet.

"Do I need to dress for anything in particular?" she asked, crossing the room towards the closet as he stood and took a path towards the bedroom door.

"Walking." Remington answered as he headed towards the bedroom door. "Oh, and Laura? Do remember to bring your coat this time." He raised a playful brow towards her. "On second thought, the idea of warming you again does hold a certain… appeal… shall we say?" On those words he left the room, as Laura watched after him.

A corner of her mouth lifted in a small smile. It was the first hint of humor she'd seen from him in nearly twenty-four hours. It gave her hope that the moment of crisis might be abating. She contentedly hummed to herself as she got ready for the day ahead.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Abandoned

They'd stopped in a small town and had lunch in a quaint pub before continuing along their way to his destination. When the trip had begun, Remington had seemed to return, more or less, to his natural, upbeat state. He'd shared interesting information about villages and towns with which he was familiar. They'd laughed over Mildred's contradictory fascination with and fear of the ghosts that supposedly haunted the hallowed halls of Ashford Castle. And, of course, he'd been unable to keep himself from waxing poetic about the various film stars that hailed from Ireland, a goodly portion of that conversation devoted to the acting prowess of Maureen O'Hara.

For a little while, it was like those days in the months before the INS had arrived. Laura allowed herself to sink into it and as they returned to the car to head to their next destination, without thought, her fingers feathered against the back of his hand as he drove. Warm blue eyes glanced at her before returning to the road, as his hand turned over under hers and their fingers laced with one another. She closed her eyes and leaned back in her seat, allowing the peace of the moment to lull her. A contented smiled lifted her lips when, in the moments before she dozed off, she felt him lift her hand, his lips trailing across her knuckles.

She was jarred awake, quite literally. Eyes flashing open, as the car lurched again, Laura tried to get her bearings. They were on rutted road seemingly in the middle of nowhere, certainly not what she'd expected to awaken to, let alone where. Groggy eyes, considered Remington. Even in her sleep-dazed state, he could see he was slipping back into the dark place he'd lost himself in the day prior. At the sharp needles in her fingertips, she tried to wiggle her fingers and only then realized her hand was still clasped within his own. Looking down, she saw the whitened knuckles of his own hand as he clung tightly to hers. _Anchoring himself,_ she realized. While kicking herself for falling asleep, for forgetting even for a moment the demons he was battling, she gently extracted her fingers from his, then lifting his hand, pressed her lips at the center of his palm. Remington relaxed visibly at the caress.

"Where are we?" Laura asked, as his hand captured hers within his grasp again.

"A bit outside of Galway," he answered, as though that explained it all. Of course, it explained next to nothing, only spurring on her natural inquisitiveness.

"Why are we here? What's here?" He shot her a pained look.

"We're almost there. I'll explain then." He peered at a road, if one could call the dirt path a road, ahead on the right, considered it, and releasing her hand, turned the car onto it. Rocks kicked up at the bottom of the car, the vehicle jolting when it would hit a particularly deep hole in the road. They passed several small, dilapidated homes, some appearing no larger than a shed, others boasting slightly more space, but all equally run down. Abruptly he turned off onto a narrow lane that ended in front of yet another decrepit building. Turning off the engine, he sat staring at it before finally breaking free of his thoughts and opening the car door. Laura, with a puzzled look at his back, opened her own door and climbed out.

Remington stood in front of the car, hands in coat pockets, studying the small, white stucco house with thatched roof. It was clear the house had been abandoned for some time, as thatching sagged, and the home's few windows were cracked. Laura stood in silence, watching as emotions flitted across his face, clearly in response to memories this place invoked in him. He waited until she joined him, then removing a hand from his pocket, placed it on the small of her back nudging her towards the home's front door. Before they entered, his fingers found her waist, halting her in her step.

"Let me go first and make sure it's secure," he told her. Laura nodded her agreement, not showing her customary outrage at the idea that anyone felt she needed to be protected against potential dangers. So versed at reading him, she knew whatever was about to happen here was of grave import to him. Thus, she stood by and watched as he ducked under the low arch of the doorway and entered the old home.

Remington stilled inside the doorway as memories assailed him. After a few moments, he gave a shake of his head, clearing it. Studying the interior, he found nothing that would suggest the home would fall down around them. He poked his head out the door.

"Seems sound enough." With those words, Laura followed him inside.

She studied the interior with the critical eye of the detective she was, noting the mustiness that hung in the air, the dust and dirt layering the floor and the sunlight that shone through holes in the roof above. The living room in which she stood was small, an abandoned sofa, material rotted, sitting before a stone fireplace, and an old wood table and four chairs tucked in a corner. She followed Remington as he wandered slowly from room-to-room. A tiny kitchen, refrigerator pock-marked with rust, the door to an oven hanging from its hinges and in a cabinet a nest of a past visitors that she didn't want to give much thought to. An even smaller bathroom that barely held an old claw foot tub, pedestal sink and toilet. Two apparent bedrooms, one not much larger than a closet. Remington stood quietly in this room, turning about, his face filled with something akin to awe.

"For some reason, in my memories, this room always seemed so much larger," he commented reverently. "But, then, I imagine it would have as I was just a little tyke at the time." Laura's eyes widened at his words. Stepping near him, her hand found his, grasping it.

"You lived here?" she inquired softly, looking at the room in new light.

"Aiden. Aiden Shannahan." He nodded as he spoke the non-answer to her question, drawing a quizzical look from her.

"Aiden Shannahan?" He turned and looked down at her with hazy eyes filled with memories, the question taking a moment to register.

"My name when I lived here. The name I kept the longest." A memory trickled through his mind, drawing a soft laugh. "Gave me a devil of a time when she was teachin' me how to write my letters, spell my name. Such a long name for a little lad just learnin'."

"She?" He gave her a pained smile at the question.

"Aye. The woman I thought of as me mum at the time." Laura noted that that his speech was rapidly picking up the cadence, the wording of traditional Irish. She was used to him slipping here and there to the language of his youth, usually under times of tremendous stress or profound relaxation. To see it triggered by simply his surroundings left her a bit surprised. He'd not slipped, after all, from the British accent of his adulthood a single time since they'd arrived in Ireland, making it clear his doing so now was tied to the memories he was reliving.

"How old were you?" He dwelled on the question for a moment, searching his memory for the answer with a slight frown drawn between his brows.

"They 'ad a party for me fourth birthday shortly after me arrival. Nothin' fancy… them, a neighbor or two and yet another for me fifth, a few days afore I was sent on me way again." She watched him, transfixed, a smile of bemusement lifting the corners of her mouth at his words, the accent. Seeing the look upon her face he realized at once what it was about, and with a scowl and quick flick of his head, chided himself for the misstep. Releasing her hand, he crossed the small room to the closet and upon opening it, stooped down in the doorway. A grin lit his face, and he waved her over. Leaning over, she looked at whatever it was to which he was pointing.

"It's me, from when I arrived until when they sent me off," his British accent carefully in place once more.

Laura stared at hash marks on the door jamb, each adorned with 'Aiden' in a fine scrawl, and a date underneath the name. Unable to help herself, she fingered each mark, a soft sigh escaping her lips.

"You were so small," she commented reverently. He gave a short, quiet laugh.

"'Yer growin' like a weed, me boy.' He used to say that to me all the time. 'Ye'll be taller than yer Da afore I blink me eyes.' I suppose I did grow a fair bit in my time here," he said with a tilt of his head, as he measured the distance between the first hash mark and the last with his fingers, holding them up after. "About five inches inside of a year, wouldn't you say." Laura nodded and unable to help herself, fingered back the unruly lock of hair that fell across his forehead, her fingers sliding down the side of his face to rest on his cheek.

"I wish we had pictures of you then." He'd not missed her use of the word 'we' and his heart thrummed a little faster in his chest because of it. He rubbed his cheek against her fingers, before standing and taking her by the hand.

"Yes, well, I don't imagine there are many of those about. When you're passed about from relative-to-relative, staying for only moments in time, few are concerned with having pictures of you for their family album." With a slight tug on her hand, he led her from the house then around it towards the back.

"Were you happy here?" she asked, unable to help herself. She bit her lip and scrunched her face in chagrin. She didn't expect him to answer, was surprised when he did.

"Mmmmm," he hummed in the affirmative. "I have a few memories of the time I spent here. Me gathered up in her lap each evening where she sat in her rocking chair, as she read me a story before bedtime. The both of them tucking me in after my prayers were said. Him, chasing me about the yard, pretending I was too fleet of foot to be caught, grabbing me up only when I'd tired, then taking me to the ground and tickling me until I laughed so hard, it was a wonder I didn't embarrass myself. She and I bent over the dining room table as she taught me my letters and numbers. Her again, pushing me for what seemed like hours on the swing he made me out back." He turned to face her, then whispered two fingers along Laura's cheek then jaw. "You remind me of her in many ways."

"Oh?" She stilled, as she watched his blue eyes roam over her face.

"Mmmm hmmmm," he hummed. "Your eyes." A finger skimmed along her brow, down along the side of her eyes. "Your cheek bones." He lay his fingertips there. "The lilt in your voice." A thumb brushed against the fullness of her lips. "Wondrous things come to mind when I imagine your lovely voice speaking Gaelic." Laura's hand released his, her hands sliding up his chest and over his shoulders to rest her fingers against the back of his neck, twirling in the soft hair at the nape of his neck, as his own hands found a perch upon her hips.

"Do you speak Gaelic?" she asked, a bit astonished she didn't know the answer to this.

"A fair amount," he confirmed, "though not as fluently as when I was a lad." She tilted her head to the side, as fingers tapped against the base of his neck thoughtfully.

"Say something." He thought for a moment, then smiled.

"Tabhair póg dum a chumann," he said softly, freely allowing the song of Ireland to chime through each syllable.

"Tabhair póg dum a chumann," she repeated with a smile, trying to infuse the words with the same cadence as his. "What…"

"Don't mind if I do," he murmured, a finger touching the underside of her chin, tilting her head up as his lips lowered to hers. He brushed slightly parted lips back and forth against hers before settling and pressing slowly, gently against hers. Their lips wandered over familiar territory, too seldom explored in recent weeks. Stepping closer, her fingers wended through his hair and over firm shoulders, as an arm tucked her tighter against him while a hand stroked the side of her neck.

"Dare I ask what I said?" she asked on a breath when their mouths parted.

"Roughly translated?" He asked, with a cock of his head. "Kiss me, my darling." Laura smiled and leaned in to him.

"Well in that case… Tabhair póg dum a chumann," she repeated, drawing him back down to her with a press of her hands against his neck.

"Bheadh sé áthas orm, mo ghrá" he whispered before his lips covered hers in a kiss that was both tender and reverent, leaving both of their bodies humming. He bussed her neck, before they reluctantly separated and began walking again.

"You were happy here," she commented. He glanced at her, a touch of sadness creasing his eyes, before nodding slowly.

"I was. I'd begun to believe I belonged somewhere, to someone." He rubbed a hand through his hair, turned to look at the house behind them. "Ah, Laura," his voice tinged with frustration, regret, "I was young when I arrived here, but already so bloody tired of never having a place to call home, I remember that much at least. It took them weeks to draw me out of myself. I didn't want to believe, to hope. It's easier that way. But then I stayed on, continued to stay on, and they won me over in time. I'd begun to believe…" he trailed off, lifting a hand to his mouth, working his thumb nail with his teeth.

"What happened?" she asked quietly. He glanced at her, shaking his head as he did.

"I'd come to them not as a check, a ploy against the government, but for no other reason than they wanted a child of their own to…" he stumbled, then continued on, voice gruff, "… to love. They'd not been able to have one of their own." He exhaled deeply. "When they found out she was with child there were… choices… to be made. They weren't well off, as you can see." He nodded towards the house. "I heard them one night, she crying, he cajoling, attempting to make her understand. 'We're barely makin' it as it is. We've not enough to feed two hungry mouths, we've no choice.' 'He's our son,' she told him. 'But not our blood. This babe, a wee lass or lad, is ours. We've got to let 'im go.' I listened as she cried, but still, within a few weeks they'd packed me up." He exhaled deeply. They'd arrived back at the front of the house and he stood staring down the lane. "Then one morning, I found myself in the back of yet another car, watching out the rear window, until I could no longer see them, crying all the while, begging to go back home. 'You've no home, lad. Ye'll be comin' with us until we figure out what to do with ye next,' I was told."

Laura had stayed quiet throughout, but now spoke, her voice tinged with disgust. "Who tells a child they have no home? What was wrong with them?" He shrugged lightly.

"Cruel the way it was done, perhaps, but the truth none the less. I didn't have a home then. Oh, I found a couple over the years after I ran, but for one reason or another they didn't prove permanent."

"Until Daniel?" she asked.

"Daniel was… complicated… shall we say. A conversation best left for another time, I think." Laura nodded, pleasantly surprising him when she simply moved on. She looked back toward the house, reflecting on what he'd shared.

"I think they loved you," she told him simply.

He shrugged. "They told me as much whilst I was here. They were just words. Their actions spoke clearly in the end. I wasn't enough and they sent me on my way. Still, I had that year." He glanced at her, then away again.

"Where did you go?" He sighed deeply.

"To any number of 'relatives' throughout the years. Some took me in out of obligation, others for a check. Sometimes for a few months, others a few days at most, depending on their need for me. I learned to… adjust… quickly reading the expectations of the relatives where I next landed. Quiet and studious in one home, outgoing football enthusiast in another, or at times simply trying to be invisible, hoping they'd forget I was there and not send me on my way again." Her eyes widened, as part of the puzzle that was Remington clicked into place.

"So you didn't learn it from Daniel: slipping so easily from one persona to another." He turned his head towards her, cocking it slightly to the side, considered how much to share. Closing his eyes, he nodded, before speaking with some difficulty.

"Daniel… refined… what I'd taught myself over the years. By the time he'd… found… me, it was a habit well worn," he acknowledged. Arriving at the car, he reached for the handle to open the door for Laura. Propping her back against the door, she prevented him from doing so. He gave her a speculative look, then straightened as two small hands brushed across his shoulders, neck then cheeks. He gazed down at her with open curiosity even has his hands grasped her hips lightly, while she considered him with introspection.

"I don't understand," she told him as fingers brushed back that lock of hair from his forehead again before moving to run through the hair at the side of his head. A brow raised in puzzlement at her. "How could so many people fail one little boy?" She paused, as her eyes moistened and she worried her bottom lip with her teeth to stave off the emotion. "How could they not love you? How could they not see what I see?"

Remington stilled at her words. His eyes found hers, searched, and what he saw there overwhelmed. His hands moved quickly to cup either side of her face, before his lips found hers, touching gently, tenderly savoring. When their lips parted, he drew her against him, her head tucked under his chin.

"The things you say sometimes, Laura," he murmured. Smiling against his chest, she wrapped her arms around his back and kept him close several long moments. With a regretful sigh she pushed herself from his arms. Her hand took a final sweep of his cheek and jaw before he handed her into the car.

Laura sighed and smiled as he rounded the car to get in. When the fingers of his hand found the fingers of hers the moment he put the car in gear, she couldn't help believe that everything between them would be okay.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10: The Reason for Flight

"So where are we going?" Laura asked, strolling arm and arm with Remington. She had taken his advice to dress warmly and was glad she had. Although she was wearing a pair of wool dress pants and a matching wool sweater underneath a tailored coat that reached her knees, she was still chilly. She glanced at him, her pulse jumping. When he had come down the stairs earlier that morning wearing loosely fitted gray slacks and a cream colored sweater that emphasized his wide shoulders and slim waist, she had wanted to rip his clothes off him with her teeth. He was drop dead gorgeous as usual. _Such a pity to always be outdone by a man_ , she'd thought. And once he had shrugged into his black leather trench coat, it was all she could do not to body slam him onto the front lawn and demand he take her right there, right now.

She was surprised when they had arrived in Galway and he had driven through the beautiful city central, to park the car once they arrived in what could only be described as a seedy, rundown neighborhood.

"Here," he told her, waving a hand at the building before them.

The three story stone building was run down, grime covered windows cracked and broken, most likely by rocks thrown by young hooligans during years past. Cement casted angels perched atop pillars on either side of the building. Wide steps led up to the building's front doors, doors that had to be at least 10 feet tall, the words "St. Patrick's" were engraved into the building above them. But all and all the place felt….sinister… the only word she could find to properly describe it.

"What is this place? An old church or school?"

"It's certainly no church," he replied with some irony tainting his voice accompanied by a frown, which always belied he was worried about something.

"Then what is it?"

"The place where James O'Roarke once lived," he obligingly replied.

"Who's James O'Roarke? An old friend?"

"He was me," Remington replied almost drolly. Glancing at Laura, he saw that she was stunned silent, not normally an easy feat. Grabbing her by the hand, he led her up the steps towards the door. "C'mon. Let's go have a look about."

 _I hope you're right Daniel_ , Remington thought to himself as they climbed the stairs. _Because I'm about to re-enter hell so that Laura can understand there are parts of my past that I don't refuse to talk about but can't because I need them to stay locked away._

Laura remained silent all the way up the steps. Her mind was going a mile a minute and she didn't speak again until he had pulled open the doors and started heading into the dirty, musty old building. He seemed determined to pull her along after him, until she planted her feet and refused to budge.

"Wait, stop. What is this place?" she asked, putting her hand on his shoulder to turn him around and face her.

"St. Patrick's orphanage," he answered bitterly.

"An orphanage? I don't understand. You told me you grew up being passed around by family members before you ran away."

"I did," he replied shortly, pulling on her hand again.

" _Wait_ ," she demanded. "I don't understand. If you were with family, how did you end up here?"

"Laura, I need you to trust me. I promise I'll answer all your questions when we get there. C'mon."

Giving up, Laura allowed Remington to lead her up one stair case and then a second until they were on the third floor of the building. Looking around a bit to get his bearings, Remington nodded then turned to the right, then left, before entering a door. The room was about fifteen feet wide and maybe twenty feet long. Rusted cots with filthy, rotting mattresses were still lined up against the walls: 12 beds total crammed into the room. He led her to the last cot on the right, before stopping and looking around, appearing haunted.

"Tell me," Laura asked, reaching out to put a hand against his cheek.

Remington took a deep breath then let it out. He knew this would not be easy; nearly backed out if he were to be honest. But he wanted to be able to give Laura something he had never given anyone else before: the parts of his past he kept hidden, even, at times, from himself. He knew it in his core that his past, his damnable past, was the wall that constantly forced them apart. He didn't want barriers between them anymore…no matter how hard it might be.

Kissing Laura's hand on the palm, he twined her fingers with his own, and held on with a death grip. Laura's hand tightened on his in response, making certain he felt her presence near.

Clearing his throat, he began….

"For years after I left the house we just came from, I moved from one place to the next, my name changing as often as my address. Sometimes I was named on a whim 'Oh, look at ye lad, yer a Patrick iffin' ever I saw one.' Other times it was changed for vanity, 'If I'm to raise ye as me own, then ye'll bear me name.' I was ten when I'd landed with the last 'family member.' The man had a short fuse, quick hand and a brutal fist. I'd had enough and was bone tired of being tossed around here and there, belonging nowhere. I figured I stood a better chance out on my own, it couldn't be worse." He gave a shrug of his shoulders and turned to look around the room, memories of the other children he'd once shared the accommodations with floating through his mind. "I was snatched up by a copper a couple months later, attempting to nick something to eat from a local grocer. The next thing I knew, I was here."

"I gave them the name I'd been last given, James, but couldn't give them a last name as I no longer recalled what my last name truly was, or even if I had ever had one to call my own. Too many homes, too many changes, and too young to keep track of the one that mattered." It wasn't the first time he had told her this, but he hoped it would be the first time she truly believed him. He dropped down on the cot, mindless of its grime. He still held her hand in a death grip. He looked up at her, to see if she believed him, or if once again he would see doubt reflected there. Laura sat next to him, despite the filth, knowing instinctively he would need her close during whatever lay ahead.

"You said outside that your name was James O'Roarke when you lived here. Did the orphanage just assign you a last name?" He nodded slowly.

"In a manner of speaking. O'Roarke is the surname that all abandoned children were given when they arrived here. After the _priest_ ," the last word spoken as though it held a foul taste, "who ran the place. Nice and orderly, easy to keep track of."

"How long did you live here?" Laura asked, stroking his back, urging him to go on.

"A few months before I ran again." She waited for him to go on, then watched as a flicker of pain shot across his handsome face. She found herself wishing they could leave. He'd been in such a dark place for the last day, had finally seemed to be breaking free of it, and now this place was pulling him back down. Torn between whatever need brought him here and wanting to turn on heel leave, she willed herself to follow him where he led.

"Why? From what I can tell it's not the best of places, but at least it was a roof over your head, somewhere you were safe. It had to be better than living in the streets."

"It was never safe here, Laura," Remington told her tersely, a hand swiping roughly through his hair.

"What do you mean?" Her pulse picked up its pace in response to his tension, his words.

Abruptly standing, leaving Laura staring at him in surprise and concern, he began pacing, trying to figure out where to start this part of his story.

"The nuns that took care of us were nice enough to us, I suppose," he began, finding as the memories moved in he was swarmed by them. "Made sure we were fed, dressed properly – or as properly as you could get as this was a place with few funds. Sent us off to school each morning, watched over us as we did our homework and the like.

"But the _priest_ ," again this word was said with venom, "that ran the place was a sadistic bastard always looking for a reason to 'discipline' a child, especially the boys. Whatever the slight, real or imagined, it guaranteed a wakeup call by him late at night." Hand rubbing across his mouth, Remington let out a shuddering breath before continuing. "He'd come into the room, then stand over the offender's cot, smiling… actually bloody smiling… before his face would darken and his hand would reach out and grab the child's ear, yanking hard, prying them from their cot, before giving them a kick in the bum, forcing them into the aisle.

"'To my office, now,' he'd bellow," his voice raising in kind before quieting. "And even though they knew what was coming, whoever it happened to be would, without question, obey, afraid to make things worse…" He rubbed his mouth again, eyes haunted. "… as if they could. Once the child arrived in the office, he would demand that they strip. He enjoyed that, he did, knowing how vulnerable they would feel, how humiliated. And all the while, they would hear it…

"Snap….snap….snap. The sound of him snapping the strap together. Some kids wet themselves just hearing the sound, and they would be beat all the worse for it…"

Coming out of his memories for a moment, Remington turned to see if Laura was digesting this bit of his past. He saw that she was. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, board straight in her fury, fists clenching and unclenching, her eyes shooting fire.

"Tell me," Laura said tightly, "That he didn't do that to you."

Remington turned away, knowing he could not tell her the next part and see her reaction.

"Oh, he had gotten his hands on me a couple of times, not too terribly bad. I had gotten a bit of a mouth on me by then, angry at the world. Was quick to pop off, mindless of the consequences," he laughed quietly, sadly.

"Then two days before I ran he and I had our final run in. That evening, Sean was still in his bed," Remington said, swiping his hand in the direction of the bed next to the one on which Laura was seated, "having been strapped the night before and barely able to move. He'd been telling me on and off all day how hungry he was. But there was a hard and fast rule in the orphanage: either you ate in the dining hall or you went hungry. Didn't want to attract rats, you know," he laughed sardonically.

"He begged me to sneak him something to eat from the dining hall that evening. I knew the consequences if caught, but I could hear his stomach growling and knew only too well how it felt to be in pain and hungry. I figured I could at least solve the hungry part…"

Remington rubbed his face with both of his hands before taking a deep breath. He wandered over to a filthy window and used his handkerchief to wipe off the grime, so he could stare outside of those walls while he continued.

"As I went through the food line that night, I looked about to see if anyone was watching. Absolutely sure no one was paying me any mind, I nicked a couple of rolls and shoved them into my pocket, so I could pass them on to Sean when I returned to the room. He went to bed that night still hurting but at least not hungry anymore and I went to bed believing I had gotten away with it. Until that is, I felt the tugging on my ear and heard him ordering me to his office…"

"Ahhhh, Laura, I told you I had a bit of a mouth on me by those days, so I turned to Father O'Roarke and told him I wasn't going anywhere with him, he wasn't going to put his hands or strap on me any longer. I was rewarded for my efforts with a hand so hard across my head that I saw stars. Fuzzy in the head, I went down to that office, just like we all did in the end.

"The beating that night was particularly vicious, him drawing blood in several places and raising welts all over my back and legs. I think it angered him even more that I would not cry, would not beg for him to stop. I wouldn't give him the pleasure of hearing my fear.

"Just like Sean, I stayed in bed." He inhaled sharply, the memory so clear he could actually feel each stinging wound, each aching bruise. "God, it hurt to move. Even the slightest motion felt like my skin was being stripped straight off…

"I vowed it would never happen again. As I lay there in that bed, I plotted how and when I would run. On the second night, O'Roarke came back into the room, another boy having committed an infraction. I knew that was my chance, because he would be too involved beating whoever it was this time to hear me leave.

"I waited until I could hear the cries, then I snuck down the staircase and out the door. No matter how hungry I got, no matter how cold, I never once thought about coming back here. I learned how to pick pockets more skillfully, to get enough money to stave off the worst of the hunger. Occasionally, someone kind would take me in, before I would bolt again having learned it was better to leave than to be cast aside. I did what I needed in order to survive. But at least I was free of this place and of him."

Finished, he sat down on the cot nearest him, and hung his head, exhausted from sharing the story.

"Where is he?" Laura asked quietly.

"Where is who?" he asked, puzzled, glancing back at her.

"That man… That…that… _bastard_ …that hurt you."

"I've no idea, honestly, and I don't care," he answered, shrugging, "I've no desire to ever lay eyes on him again."

She stood and quietly crossed the room to him. Stooping down in front of him, she brushed the unruly lock of hair back off his face then laid her hand on his cheek.

"How did you do it?" He looked at her, clearly puzzled.

"Do what?"

"Family that didn't do right by you, a priest that abused you, years of your childhood spent on the streets. How did you keep this amazing heart of yours?" she asked, laying her hand on his chest over his heart. "It's a testament to who you are that you are still so kind… loving."

Remington stared at Laura for several seconds, before his hands shot out to grasp either side of her head and draw her lips to his. He held her lips tightly to his as his thumbs stroked her cheeks, then pulled back for a moment before touching his lips to hers again.

"Laura, every time I think you have said the nicest thing to me that anyone has ever said, you go and top it down the line. What have I done to deserve you?"

"I think you're asking the wrong question yet again," she told him softly. Remington ran his eyes across her face, perplexed by her response, then growing concerned as he noted her solemn expression.

"What's the right question, then?"

She reached up and ran her fingers over his shoulder before laying her hand against his neck.

"What did I do to deserve you?"

He stilled, stunned by her words, then stood up quickly pulling her up into his arms, hugging her tight against him. She tucked her head onto his shoulder then wrapped her arms tightly around him, while lying her lips against his neck.

"Can we please go?" Laura asked against his neck. "I can't stand being here another second knowing what happened to you here."

Remington leaned back to look at her then kissed her gently before letting her out of his arms. Grabbing her hand and linking his fingers with his own he led her out of the room, then out of the orphanage that had harbored one of his worst nightmares.

* * *

Remington glanced over at Laura for the half dozenth time in the twenty minutes that they had been back on the road towards Ashford Castle. She had been remarkably silent during the ride thus far, only giving short answers to the questions he had posed trying to draw her out. He reached over and linking his fingers with hers, gave her hand a gentle squeeze. Laura turned away from the window momentarily and gave him a soft smile, before picking up his hand to kiss the back of it. She laid her head against the window once more, staring at the passing scenery.

"Laura, talk to me." She turned to him and gave him a slight smile again.

"I'm fine. Just tired," she fibbed.

He didn't buy it for a moment, but decided to play along for the time being. He knew her as well as he knew himself, and realized she needed time to work through what he had shared with her earlier. He gave her hand a little tug.

"Come here then," he told her, smiling warmly at her. "We still have near an hour to reach the castle. Relax and take a little nap."

Laura hesitated but needing to be close to him, scooted over and laid her head down on his leg before curling her legs up on the seat and closing her eyes. Remington's hand automatically dropped down and began stroking her hair.

She couldn't understand how he could so easily shake off the memories he'd shared at the orphanage, while the image of him beaten, blistered and bleeding, laying on that cot was playing over and over again in her mind. She could not stand the idea of anyone being abused, especially a child. But when the child under question had been him, it made her feel like her heart was being torn in two.

Right now, all she could think of was getting back to the castle, getting out of the clothes she wore and getting in the shower. She could smell the place on herself, feel its grime coating her skin. She wanted nothing to remind her of that place again - nothing to remind her of him, as just a little boy, lying on that bed in pain. The gentle stroke of his hand shortly let her slip into sleep.

He knew the moment she fell asleep, feeling her shuddering sigh against his leg. Lifting her hair away from her face, he touched the back of his hand to her cheek.

It had been difficult sharing the memory with her and he hated how it clearly hurt her to know of that time in his life. Yet, he could not help thinking that Daniel had been right. Sharing this piece of his life with her and the words they had exchanged afterwards had strengthened his belief they could make it through all the difficulties, all the tension and hurt, they had endured in recent days.

He glanced down at her and knew, no matter how hard today had been, she was worth it all and then some.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Don't Con a Con

When they arrived back at the castle, Remington gently roused Laura from sleep. Looking at him bleary eyed, it took her a few moments for her to get her bearings and realized they had arrived back at their temporary home and that she had, indeed, fallen asleep. As she sat up, he walked around the car and opened the door, then offered her a hand out. As they walked up to the front door then into the foyer, he kept his hand linked with hers.

"I need a few minutes with Mildred," he told her as he turned to face her. "She's been doing a bit of research for me to see how we can pry this white elephant off our shoulders."

Laura gave him a small smile, and squeezed his hand before letting it go.

"I think I'm going to go change, then go back to sleep for a little longer. Do you mind?"

"Of course not. There's a few matters I should attend to around here that will likely keep me busy a good part of the afternoon."

He leaned down and gave her a quick kiss, then watched as she traversed the stairs to the second floor before turning away to search out Mildred so they could discuss the plans he had in mind.

* * *

Remington met swiftly with Mildred, confirming what he'd already expected to be the truth. Hustling her in and out of the office he claimed for himself for the meetings had proven a challenge, yet he'd managed to accomplish it in five short minutes. Once their business was dispensed with, he ushered Mickeline into the office in Mildred's wake. With a glance at his watch, he determined he would give the matter ten minutes of his time, no more as he wanted to check in on Laura. She'd taken what he'd shared with her at their last stop hard, and he needed to assure himself that she was alright.

Leaning with his backside against the desk, arms crossed, Remington towered over the seated Mickeline… intentionally so. He wanted control of the conversation from the outset, wanted to make it clear that he meant business and the time for fun and games had come to an end. Mickeline looked up at him with trepidation. _Good,_ Remington thought to himself. _A man off-guard is a man that cannot easily lie._

"I'm sure you're well aware, Mickeline, that since the moment my wife and I arrived, I've been presented with an endless array of allegedly outstanding bills related to the castle's upkeep. Am I accurate in stating that?" Remington asked.

"Yes, indeed, yer Lordship. There are many a bill associated with keepin' a 'ome this large," Mickeline confirmed.

"Mmmmm. Yes, that there is. To that end, I've had Mildred request copies of all costs associated with the upkeep of Ashford for the last year. Imagine my surprise when I discovered the bills being presented to me far exceeded even the cumulative amounts for that period of time." Mickeline had the decency to squirm in the chair where he sat. Remington continued on. "Of course, since I've only had possession of the castle for a week now, and the Earl's estate made certain to cover any and all prior costs associated with its upkeep, you can understand I am more than a bit confused about the origin of all these…" he cleared his throat, "… bills. Can you enlighten me on the matter?"

"It seems, yer Lordship, that there 'as been a bit of a misunderstandin'…" Mickeline began, for Remington to cut him off.

"Mickeline, have you ever heard the expression, 'you can't con a con'?" Remington asked with a raised brow.

"Indeed I 'ave, yer Lordship, but I be assurin' ye…." Mickeline began, only to be cut off again.

"The detective business is one con after another. As such, my wife and I are quite adept at reading when someone – or in this case, a large group of someones – are trying to pull a con on us. That said, let's cut to the heart of the matter. What, exactly, are you and the rest of the staff after that you would have attempted such a poorly executed attempt to chase my wife and I off of my inheritance?" Remington stood watch over Mickeline until the older man let out a deep sigh, knowing that he'd been caught and called on the ploy.

"Ye've no idea what it's like, yer Lordship, to constantly tend an empty 'ome, knowin' all the while about the possibilities that lie within its walls. The staff and me… well for a long time we've envisioned turnin' the Castle into a grand 'otel, bringin' life back to the Castle as well as providin' Glenn Cree with tourists that would help pull our little village out of 'ard times. We once approached the Earl and 'e turned us away. We were fearful if we tried with ye, it would only 'appen again."

Remington nodded, then stood to pace the room for a couple minutes. Glancing at his watch, he saw the time he'd allotted had nearly been used up, and decided to act, as he often did, on instinct.

"It seems the lot of you were unaware that the deed to the Castle is non-transferrable. Should I give up my rights to the Castle, it returns to the Earl's estate." At Mickeline's wide-eyed, open mouthed reaction, he knew his assumption was confirmed. "However, as long as it's in my possession, I have all rights to decide its use. In that light, I'd like to suggest a partnership, of a kind."

"A partnership, yer Lordship?" Mickeline asked, puzzled.

"Present me with a business proposal including all costs associated with your proposed hotel as well as projected profits and a detailed account of any changes that would need to be made to the premises to accommodate guests, accompanied by bids from local contractors. A business loan can be obtained to cover initial costs and expenses. A management team would be established to oversee any renovations and later the running of the hotel. In exchange, the current staff will receive a share of the profits after the business loan is paid in full, with my wife and I maintaining majority interest in the venture." Preparing to leave, Remington turned to Mickeline and added as an afterthought, "Finally, the master suite will be off limits to any guests, and will remain for the exclusive use of myself and my wife. Meet with the staff and let me know their decision. If all are in agreement, gather them together and I'll meet with them. In the meantime, I need to go see to my wife."

Turning on his heel, Remington exited the room, leaving a stunned Mickeline sitting alone and wondering what had just happened.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Understanding

Entering their room, Laura walked over to the small sofa set off to one side of the room, then sat to take off her shoes. She stared at her feet as she flexed them, as Remington's recitations of his days at St. Patrick's Orphanage played once more through her mind. She had always found it difficult to reconcile no one wanting him when he was a little boy and the constant shuffling from home-to-home, finding it incomprehensible that not a single person had cared enough to provide him any sense of permanency. She had often marveled at how he had survived to adulthood living on the streets as he had. But what had happened at the orphanage? This she found unbearable.

She let the anger she had tamped down when he was recounting his life at the orphanage, not wanting to make it more difficult for him than she knew it already was, surge to the surface now.

Shoving herself off the couch, she stripped off her clothes and slung them, almost violently, into the fireplace one piece at a time – coat, then pants, followed by her sweater until she stood only in her bra and panties, then stripped them off as well for good measure. She knew anytime she wore that outfit again, she would be reminded of his abuse and wanted to be rid of the now offensive objects.

Laura walked briskly to the bathroom and put a plug in the old claw foot tub and turned on the water full force, watching the steam rise in the chilly room. The urge to soak the filth of the place off of herself was overwhelming. Grabbing the honeysuckle scented bubble bath from off the counter, she poured a healthy dose into the tub. When the water was high enough to take the chill off the porcelain, she climbed in, and allowed the faucet to run a while longer until the level fell only a fraction below the top of the tub.

She willed herself to relax. She was furious. She had never in her life thought of harming someone else for the mere pleasure of it, but her body ached with the need to track down this priest and do to him what he had done to Remington. She silently vowed to herself that she would find a way to change what that place was to him, although she had no earthly idea what she could do at the moment.

Slowly, she turned the anger on herself, as her fury with the man that had beat Remington turned into loathing for herself. In her heart, she knew it was her fault that he'd felt compelled to relive his abuse, that he'd felt the need to take her to that….place. For years all she could do was push.

 _What's your name…your damned mysterious past is always getting in our way…why won't you tell me your name…I wouldn't want to know you have a wife and kiddies tucked away somewhere or that you had bilked little old ladies of their retirements._ She had nagged, she had pointed fingers, she had used his past as an excuse to keep him at arm's length.

Suddenly, her memory flipped a switch on a conversation they had had two years before during the Crockett case. After reuniting the Crocket twins, who had never known the other had existed, Remington had ruminated on the fact that he had been one of the fortunate ones to overcome his beginnings.

 _ **"Um. But for the luck of the draw, Roxie could have been the heiress and Tracy the truck stop waitress."**_

 _ **"A person can't let his birthright stop him. Look at you."**_

 _ **"Well, I've been lucky. I've encountered good opportunities."**_

 _ **"And you've made the most of them. However, you began, you've come a long way, baby."**_

 _ **"I, perhaps…"**_

 _ **"Are you insinuating that there are those close to you who haven't been as fortunate, or haven't had the same opportunities?"**_

 _ **"Laura, there are bits and pieces of my past that are as obscure to me as they are to you. It's at moments like this that I realize- they're less painful that way. Would you be averse to - uh- changing the subject?"**_

How could you have forced him to do that, she asked herself, continuing to beat herself up. He told you more than two years ago that there were parts of his past that were deeply painful, yet you couldn't let it go.

Sinking low in the tub, she laid her head back on the edge of the tub then slung an arm up and over her eyes.

Laura heard the bedroom door open and close.

"Laura?" Remington called out, "are you in here?" Not for the first time the thought crossed his mind that this bedroom was large… ridiculously and preposterously large. They could fit the entirety of his or Laura's apartment in here and still have room left over. He had always thought that he wanted a house like this, a symbol of his success. He stripped off his sweater, tossed it onto the chair where he'd similarly tossed his coat only moments before, then walked over to the mantle of the fireplace to use it for support as he pulled off his socks and shoes. _I think I much prefer the coziness of Laura's place_ , he thought to himself. Reaching to unbuckle his belt, as he began pulling it through the loop holes of his pants something caught his eye in the fire.

Tossing his belt onto the chair with his sweater, he stooped down to take a better look at what was in the fireplace. He could identify what appeared to be the sleeve of a sweater burning and what looked like part of …. Laura's coat?

Standing, he called out again, "Laura?"

Breaking free of her thoughts, Laura heard him call this time. "I'm in the bath. I'll be…." She stopped, seeing him leaning up against the door jamb watching her. Without realizing what she was doing, she unconsciously sunk a little lower in the tub, swatting at the bubbles to arrange them to cover what they could.

Remington smiled from the doorway watching her little display of modesty. Despite the number of times they'd shared a shower or bath in past months, every once in a while he'd catch her off guard and gun-shy Laura would appear, flushing from head-to-toe. He found this part of her as endearing as he found the bold Laura, that could turn a shower into a seductive playground, enticing.

"Laura, why are you clothes in the fire place?"

She considered dodging the question, but couldn't come up with a plausible explanation other than the truth. She stuck up her chin, and said crisply, "I didn't want them anymore." Then promptly rolled her eyes at her lame response.

Lifting a brow, he replied with no little amusement, "Seems a shame to blame perfectly innocent clothes..."

"I'm sorry," she interrupted. "I'm so sorry I forced you to do that." Knowing her guilt was written all over her face, she looked away from him, becoming suddenly interested in a spot on the other side of the room. Her head suddenly snapped back around, when she felt him climb into the tub behind her, pants and all.

"What are you doing!" she asked, stunned by his sudden impulse. "Remington, I am in the _bath,"_ she protested.

"Really, Laura, being all so prim and proper with me now?" he teased, as he settled into the bath behind her, water sloshing over the floor, then splayed his hand across her waist and pulled her back to rest against his chest. He could see she was flustered trying to rearrange bubbles once more. "Honestly, Laura, I have seen…tasted, far more than I can see at the moment."

"But…"

"Mmmmm, have touched a fair share more as well…"

She heaved an exasperated sigh then gave up and simply relaxed against him. She actually enjoyed bathing with him, the intimacy, the closeness it invoked – although one could hardly bathe when they were still half-dressed. She gave a small laugh. _Only him._ Feeling her relax, he addressed the topic at hand.

"Laura, you did nothing to be sorry for. If anyone should be apologizing, it should be me." He pulled both arms from underneath the water then reached up and began kneading her tense shoulders. He continued, "I never imagined you would get that upset…"

"Of course I was upset," she exclaimed, "How could I not be upset? What he did to you! And I forced you to go back there because I have never stopped blaming you for not sharing your past with me! I'm sorry. It was selfish…"

"Laura," he interrupted again, "You didn't _force_ me to do anything and you're damned well the least selfish woman I know. Perhaps the most damnably curious woman I've ever met," he kissed her shoulder, "… but never selfish."

"But if I hadn't…"

"Cared what happened to a little boy you didn't even know twenty some odd years ago?" he asked her, interrupting her. Moving his lips to her neck, he skimmed his way down the side with his wonderfully soft kisses. She closed her eyes and lifting a hand from the water, ran her fingers up and down his upper arm.

"But I do know that little boy. He was you. And the thought of you lying in that bed, hurt and alone…" She took a deep, quaking breath, willing the images away from her mind.

"Have you any idea what I'll remember about that place from this point forward?" he asked her softly, as he slid a hand under the water to stroke her side, while his other lifted her hair so he could run his lips along the base of her neck. She was quickly losing her train of thought, distracted by the touch of his hand and his lips and could only shake her head no in response to his question.

"I'll remember that you cared what happened to me, long before you ever knew me," he replied as his fingers trailed a path across her stomach.

"I care more than you could ever imagine," she confessed breathlessly turning in his arms for a kiss, as his fingers moved with her motion around to her back, where he continued to stroke.

His heart lurched in his chest at her confession. His hand on her back moved to tighten around her waist as his other hand burrowed in her hair, while he brought his mouth down hard on top of hers as his emotions overwhelmed him. She willingly returned his rough kiss, matching his ardor with her own. Her senses were being battered by the kiss, her pulse banged in her ears…

"Damn it!" she cursed, wringing a deep laugh from him.

Climbing out of the tub, he leaned back over to kiss her, "Hold that thought, Mrs. Steele. I'll be right back."

Remington walked across the bedroom, leaving a wet trail behind him and pulled open to the door to see Mickeline standing there.

"Excuse me yer Lordship," Mickeline began, then stopped cold, staring at the puddle forming around Remington's legs.

Following his glance Remington, shrugged, "Situation in the bathroom, Mickeline. But don't worry I'm personally seeing to it." he grinned wickedly.

In the bathroom, Laura slapped her hands to her mouth, shaking her head and laughing. _Only him_ ….

"Very well, yer Lordship. I jest be comin' up to let ye know the staff is gathered as ye asked."

Remington sighed, damning his continued misfortune. "I'll be right down."

Closing the door, he turned to see Laura dressed only in a towel, laughing. He crossed the room, laughing now himself, and pulled her into his arms for a swift kiss, before heading to the closet to get changed. If an interruption is what it took to put a smile back in her eyes, it was worth it, he decided.


	13. Chapter 13

_**A/N: This chapter contains NC-17 content. If you are uncomfortable with such content or under age 18, please stop reading after Daniel's letter to Laura and continue on to Chapter 14.**_

Chapter 13: The Power of Words

The idea of a nap forgotten, Laura dressed simply in a red, v-necked cashmere sweater and pair of jeans. Given Remington had dressed in a casual sweater over a button down shirt along with a pair of jeans of his own, she assumed there would be no further surprise trips on the evening. Out of habit, she gathered up his clothes from where they still hung over the back of a chair. She rehung his sweater in the closet, then emptied the pockets of his coat, tossing the car keys on top of the dresser. When she pulled the letter from Daniel to him from a second pocket, it gave her pause. She pursed her lips then lay it on top of the dresser as well, untouched and unread. The letter had reminded her she had two envelopes waiting for her as well. After hanging his coat and retrieving the two envelopes from the bedside table drawer where she'd tucked them away earlier when she changed, she curled up in a corner of the couch, then with a deep breath popped open the flap of the slimmer envelope, extracting two sheets of stationary. Laura settled in to read, then jumped a little when the bedroom door opened and Remington strode back into the room.

"Finished with the staff already?" Laura asked. He hummed an affirmative answer as he crossed the room to where she sat. His eyes rested on the papers held in her hands, the envelopes lying on the couch next to her.

"What have you got there?" he asked, suspecting he already knew.

"A letter from Daniel."

He nodded.

"Ah. I'll leave you alone with it then," he told her, already turning on his heel to head back towards the bedroom door. She shook her head.

"No, stay," she insisted quietly. "We both know it will be about you anyway." She watched him hesitate. "Come on, we'll stretch out, read it together. It just saves me telling you about it later." With visible reluctance, he returned to the couch and stretched out, his back against the side arm, then waited as she climbed up to sit between his legs before reclining back against his chest, where they'd both be able to clearly see the letter.

"Uh, Laura, a

re you quite certain? If you want your privacy, I assure you, I'll understand." Tilting her head back on his shoulder so she could look at him, she saw the doubt written on his face and smiled as fingertips of a hand brushed along his jawline.

"I'm sure. Are you up for this?" He pursed his lips slightly then gave a terse nod. She settled back in then picked up the pages and began to read.

 _My Dear Laura –_

 _Yes, my dear, I remember your name quite well, although admittedly I found a great deal of amusement in irritating both yourself and Harry by pretending elsewise._

Laura snorted softly at the words, drawing a quiet laugh from Remington in reaction to her.

 _It was, actually, quite a lot of fun, watching your pique each time I called you Linda and Harry's need to correct me each time, knowing full well my game. That he was inclined to do so, spoke volumes, even if he never realized it._

Settling himself more comfortably behind Laura, Remington's hand began stroking her arm.

 _I_ _always knew this world of mine would be unable to contain him, much to my disappointment, as he would have been one of the true masters should he have chosen to stay on. I'd never seen anyone with such natural ability or diversity. He could take on any role with aplomb, no one suspecting he was other than he claimed. He could perpetuate the perfect con, the most elaborate of heists, and the most challenging recoveries. I had great plans for Harry, but all the while knew he was not suited for the life and the day would come when I would have to let him go_.

 _I can truthfully say I never thought that day would arrive in the form of a woman. But arrive in that manner it did. You see, I've known, dear Laura, from my first trip to Los Angeles that Harry's choice had already been made: you and the life that the two of you would share. Our little battles for him were won by you long before they began and were, for me, an opportunity to press you to claim him as your own, as he has always hoped you would whilst also, admittedly, providing me a great deal of amusement._

Remington's hand on her arm stilled, then after brief hesitation, resumed its path up and down her arm. Laura noted his reaction, but continued on as though unaware.

 _You see, my dear, you held in your hand everything he never believed he had the right to dream of, yet wanted all the same: A profession he could take pride in whilst fulfilling his dreadfully tiresome need to help people; that provided him with the delightful, adrenaline fueled adventures he so enjoys; the opportunity to bestow justice whilst employing his skills that might skirt the law, but never quite breaks it; a home of some permanency, which he never had in this life of ours; and most of all, someone that would finally look beyond the surface and would want to keep him with them for no other reason than for who he was inside._

Remington picked up her hand and pressed his lips against her palm, acknowledging the truth of Daniel's words, then resumed stroking her arm. Laura's hand stopped his hand mid-track, to give it a small squeeze before she returned to the letter.

 _He loves you, dear girl, with a love that is deeper, more passionate, more abiding than even mine for my sweet Fiona._

They both stilled at the words, she afraid to hope the words Daniel had written were true, he recognizing his father had gifted him the words he'd been too afraid to speak for years. It was Remington who resumed movement first, his hand leaving her arm so that his fingers could press lightly against Laura's cheek, silently asking that she look at him. When she did, she saw the truth of what Daniel had written in his eyes and on his face, then in the touch of his lips as he gently pressed them to hers in a kiss so tender it took her breath away. When his lips moved away from hers it was only to press against a cheek, then her brow as she stared at him with molten brown eyes that had moistened with emotion. With a stuttering of intake of breath, she laced her fingers with his before tucking both their hands against herself as she returned her attention to the letter.

 _Believe in that love, Laura, believe in him. There is only one thing that is worth risking everything in life for, and that is love. I failed to recognize that with Fi, choosing one last caper over her. The cost was far too high, as I lost not only the one woman I've ever loved, but my child as well. Harry is smarter than I, readily turning his back on his old life in order to stay by your side. Yes, the life you held in the palm of your hand possessed its own appeal, but he would not have stayed for that alone. He stayed for you, for the promise of what you would have with one another once both of your battle wearied souls at last gave into it._

 _Accept the advice of an old man, who has learned from his mistakes far too late: Give in to it. Believe in it. Believe in him. Because he never trusted love, now that he has found it in you, he will hold fast and true to you for the rest of his days. It is yours to claim, he is yours to claim, if only you will. It is my fervent hope that you do, because it is in you that my boy has finally found hope, happiness, a home._

 _I have faith in you, dear girl. Take care of Harry for me. He and he alone is my masterpiece, the one thing I've not only done right in life, but have given my best to. Keep him safe, for me, in your love._

 _~ Daniel_

Laura closed her eyes and allowed the letter to flutter from her fingers and fall to her lap. It was all there between them now, Daniel's words unlocking the door, Remington's silent acknowledgment of his feelings opening it. She only had to walk through. The thought was utterly terrifying. Three words spoken, a single action, and everything from here on out would change. That she wanted that change was most frightening of all. Then, remembering her decision the day before, she summoned up her courage. Setting Daniel's letter on the coffee table, she pushed herself up and turned to straddle Remington's lap. She stared at him, and he at her. Brushing back his hair off his forehead, she leaned in and kissed him.

The kiss was not one of the quick swipes of the lips or soft touches that lingered far too shortly that Laura normally gave him. She fed hungrily on his lips, tempting, teasing, teeth nipping, tongue touching, until his lips came alive under hers with a groan of need. Pushing himself higher against the arm of the couch and pulling her hips tight against him, he took control of the kiss as his tongue swept against her lips then plunged into her mouth when she opened to him. He could taste her sigh, as well as feel it, causing him to break off the kiss in order to look at her. What he saw in her eyes stole his breath from him. Taking her face in both of his hands, he searched her eyes with a piercing gaze.

"Laura?" He breathed her name out as a question before drawing her lips back to his. This time the kiss was extraordinarily tender, his lips exploring hers in a manner reserved for when he was simply craving contact, a connection to her. Her fingers moved to the base of his neck, fingertips caressing lightly, sending shimmers down his spine. "Laura…" Her name was achingly murmured against her lips. She opened her eyes, to find him already looking down at her, as his lips continued their bewitching journey across hers. His words at the Hotel del Amor played through her mind:

* * *

" _ **We'll never know unless we take a risk."**_

* * *

Her heart fluttered in her chest, and in that moment she chose to end their four-year long dance around one another. Leaning back in his arms, keeping her eyes joined with his, she brushed back that unruly lock of hair from his forehead again, before placing a hand on each of his cheeks, her thumbs stroking against them.

"I love you." She said it clearly and with no hesitation, her words causing him to inhale a shaky breath. His eyes searched her face for any signs of doubt as hope and disbelief painted his countenance. Her eyes exchanged his probing glance, watched as his thoughts and emotions warred. _Mildred was right,_ she thought with a sense of awe. _He needs to hear the words as much as I do, maybe even more._ Her fingers tangled in, toyed with, the hair at the nape of his neck. "I love you," she repeated. His hands reached for her head, and holding it with his palms over her ears, he searched one last time, then closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers.

"Christ, Laura," he told her on an emotion roughened voice, "you'd better be sure because I'll never let you go again." Closing her own eyes, she caught her lower lip in her teeth, smiling around it. Moving her head away from him, she pressed her lips against the side of his neck.

"I love you." She whispered against his ear, then laughed as he crushed her against him. Her laugh dissolved into a soft sigh when his lips ran up the length of her neck. Lifting her head from his shoulder, he again caught her eyes with his own. A hand dipped beneath her chin, his thumb brushing against her lips. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, then let the breath go as he opened his eyes to join hers again. _You'll not be given many more chances to get this right, old sport,_ he reminded himself. His fingers caressed her cheek, as his lips tried to form the words that she'd needed so long to hear.

"I…" Laura pressed two fingers against his lips, then leaned forward until her lips were mere millimeters from his.

"Show me," she whispered against his lips.

He twined his hands in her hair, and gently pulled her head back, searching her face again. What he saw there made his eyes turn nearly indigo with desire as a smile lifted his lips. His fingers pressed against the back of her head, drawing her near. His bottom lip touched hers briefly, before retreating. "I will," he whispered against her lips, before settling over them.

Laura sighed into his mouth. Her arms wound around his waist before her hands found his buttocks, pulling against them, urging his lower body closer to hers until they were pressed firmly together. Remington's free hand journeyed down her back, over her waist, coming to a rest on the right cheek of her bottom, stroking it, then pulling her even closer to him, before releasing her and skimming his hand back up her side, over her shoulder until it laid on the side of her face, his thumb softly caressing her cheek.

Breaking his mouth free of hers with a moan, their eyes caught and held. He was captivated, as he always was, by how her eyes sparkled when the light hit them. Moving his hand to cup her other cheek, he leaned forward, whispering "I have always loved your shimmering eyes." He brushed his lips across first one eye, then the other. He trailed kisses across her face before returning to her lips. Their lips touched, caressed, teeth gently pulled on a lip, a tongue teased before his mouth left hers, trailing down her jaw line towards her neck, eliciting a hum of pleasure from her.

Her hands skimmed across his waist to lay on his abdomen, before sweeping up his body and across his chest. Wrapping her hands around the back of his neck, she arched her neck to give him better access. When his lips and tongue grazed in the hollow, she squirmed in response, creating exquisite friction against his arousal, drawing a moan from deep within his throat. His hands reached for her hips, lifting her and resettling her away from his rapidly hardening length.

"Can't be having that, love," he murmured against her throat. "We've a long way to go yet." Laura's heart flooded with warmth at the endearment he'd uttered, intensifying her yearning to feel him under her hands while quelling a question that had followed her for months. _He_ _had_ _said it in New York,_ she thought with a smile. Now, her hands tugged, almost frantically, at the hem of his sweater. With a quick brush of his lips against hers, he pulled the sweater over his head, tossing it away from them. Remington's passion glazed blue eyes watched Laura, drawn in by her unbridled need to touch him. She raised herself to her knees, then pulled his shirt loose from the waistband of his pants, her need to touch him calming only once her fingers had worked the buttons of his shirt loose, and she at last felt his skin under her hands. She sank back down on his lap on a tremoring exhale.

Remington went completely still, his only movement that of his chest rising and falling, a hand lazily stroking her back, as he was held spellbound by her. With each step forward they'd taken in their physical relationship, she had given herself over freely, making no attempt to conceal her desire for him. Yet, right now, was one of the moments he most cherished: when she allowed herself to embrace her need to be close to him, to touch him, for no reason other than to lose herself in his presence. It was in times like these that he had known, before she had said the words tonight, that she loved him, maybe even to distraction. Since picking up pencil and sketchbook, he'd drawn this moment, her total immersion in him, what they were together, again and again. Yet, still, he'd not yet found a way to accurately depict the look in her eyes, on her face during these times. This mix of love, need, desire, contentment, tenderness, hunger, happiness… absolute peace, where her walls did not exist, and she simply gave herself over.

Laura watched the movement of her hands as though mesmerized. Her splayed fingers ran up along his sides, over his ribs as she reveled in the exquisite familiarity of knowing exactly when his muscles would contract under her hands as they glanced over his skin. Her fingers teased across his chest, her eyes riveted on the play of his hair across her finger tips, while his pectoral muscles leaped and quivered under her contact with them. Her nails trailed lightly from chest to waist, her dimples showing as her lips lifted in a contented smile while watching as his abdomen tightened, heard the whoosh of his exhale, then watched as his breathing quickened in response to her touch. The tips of two fingers traced the area between his shoulder and chest, where her head had rested while she slept in his arms night-after-night for months. Unable to resist, she leaned her head forward and nuzzled her face against the area now, a soft smile flitting across her lips before she bit down on her lip while breathing out heavily as she found exactly the spot in which she would nestle. She closed her eyes for several seconds, savoring the feeling, leaving a hand behind when she lifted her head, as her other hand skimmed across his chest to lay over his heart. She closed her eyes once more, concentrating on the thrum of his heartbeat that was as intimately familiar to her as her own.

"I've missed this… us." She looked up at him with soft amber eyes, his cerulean eyes seeing her regret for the time they had lost. He touched his fingertips against her cheek, simply laying them there as his eyes ran over her face. His hand slid around to the back of her head, drew her near.

"I have, too. You've no idea how much." His lips softly teased, before settling. At the touch of his tongue, she opened her mouth to him. He languidly explored her mouth, alternating between sensuous strokes of his tongue against hers and glancing touches designed to titillate both body and imagination. When her hands glanced over his shoulders then her fingers sank into them in response to his kiss, a rumble of want emitted from his throat. He broke off the kiss, his voice gruff when he implored, "I need to touch you, Laura."

Surprised that his tone suggested he was asking permission, Laura lifted her eyes to his, tilted her head in consideration. She lay her lips against his, while her hands found his where they lay on her hips. Taking them in her own, she guided his hands to the hem of her sweater, laying them there.

"Touch me," she whispered against his lips, then brushed her mouth across his, leaving him only as his hands gripped the bottom of her sweater and lifted it over her head. She felt his staccato sigh of contentment as much as heard it when he tossed her sweater aside, and settled his eyes upon her.

It was her turn now, to lose herself in watching his reaction to having her skin open to him. Even as her fingers continued to explore his chest and shoulders, she was held enthralled by his response to her. When once she had believed he would be inclined to just get down to business, so to speak, she'd learned over the course of the last months that he was committed to savoring, to memorizing.

He half-sighed in relief that her bared skin was his to observe, to touch once more, half-groaned at the intensity of his body's reaction to the sight. Laura grinned at his sound of his hunger-tinged moan, before sinking her teeth into her lower lip as his mouth began to graze along her bare shoulder. Her hand lifted, fingers tangling in the hair at the side of his head, as the back of his hand swept down the length of her arm. When she leaned forward to brush against his chest, he nuzzled his face in the crook of her neck, his mouth tugging on her skin, drawing a wordless murmur of delight from her, while swift fingers moved to release the catch of her bra and ease the straps over her shoulders and down her arms, caressing her skin as they traveled. She leaned back to allow him room to free her bra from her arms, disposing of it as well.

Remington's gaze raked slowly down her body, neck first, then shoulders, before wandering down over her breasts, abdomen. He was enchanted by her skin that had flushed pink in response to his attentions, by the nipples already hardening in response to his touch elsewhere on her body, by the rise and fall of her chest as she sought to calm her breathing. The back of his fingers traced a line from the hollow of her neck, between her breasts, then down her stomach. His hand returned to her shoulders, to run across the dense spattering of freckles that lay across them, as his mind tried to memorize each tawny speckle.

"Exquisite," he murmured, as his hand traced over her ribs, the soft curve of her waist and hip, before skimming across the tantalizingly sensitive skin of her abdomen, leaving her nerves quaking in the wake of contact. A finger circled her navel, dipped into it briefly, before splayed fingers traveled upwards, barely brushing over a breast before the hand reached her neck, and a single finger nudged her chin to turn towards him. Only when their lips touched, did he allow himself to palm a breast, their mutual sighs merging into a single sound of contentment. At a gentle nudge of a hand on her hip, Laura turned in his arms, kneeling on either side of his legs, she settled herself on his lap, her back pressed to his furred chest, her hand running down the arm that circled her waist.

Remington now employed every secret he'd unveiled in the prior months to begin a slow, sensual assault on Laura's body. As he suckled the erotic zones at the crook of her neck and below her ear, the fingers of one hand taunted a breast, stroking and plucking in the rhythm she liked best as his other hand feathered over her cloth covered thighs to the juncture where they met before applying pressure against her sensitive mound in circular motions. Her back pressed hard against his chest, her bottom rubbing bewitchingly against his erection as he drove her body towards the peak. It had been too long since he'd last touched her, and she was quickly driven over the edge. She called out his name as she was overwhelmed by the powerful orgasm that pierced her core, flooding her body and leaving her quaking within his arms that held her tight.

As her climax released its hold upon her, she tangled her fingers in his hair, drawing his waiting lips towards her. The soft, languorous kiss kept them close while the soothing stroke of his hand along her side and abdomen calmed her body until she relaxed fully into him. Only then did his lips leave hers to plant a kiss on the top of her head as his arms settled full around her, wanting to keep her near. They stayed that way for several minutes, content in their closeness and companionable silence, before Laura stood to take his hand. He arched a brow at her, part in playfulness, part in question if she had changed her mind… something that would not at all be unprecedented in their relationship. She saw a flicker of the latter cross his face, causing a smile to dance across her lips.

"I believe a certain Irishman said we still had a long way to go. Or did I misunderstand?" She teased him lightly, then laughed when he wagged his brows at her.

"I believe I did say exactly that." Grasping her hand in his, Remington rose, then with a pull on Laura's arm, brought her into his embrace. Folding her snug against him, he wrapped his fingers in her hair and drew her lips to his. His mouth danced across hers, lips pressing, teeth tugging, tongue flicking, drawing her in until her hands wrapped loosely about his neck, her fingers stroking the nape. Slowly, he backed her towards the bed, only stopping when the back of her legs met mattress. Lips still joined with his, she opened her eyes to look at him, and found bright blue eyes looking down at her, a gleam of satisfaction sparkling within them. Refusing to give him the upper hand, she dropped a hand from his neck, lightly scraping her nails down his back. Feeling his body twitch against hers, she smiled against his lips, drawing a short chuckle from him.

His mouth left hers, to trail a series of kisses and gentle nips, down the side of her neck, while his hand slid between them to cup a bare breast. At Laura's sharp intake of breath, he brushed a thumb across her nipple, while swirling his tongue along the skin at the crook of her neck. She responded in kind, her mouth finding his shoulder, as her hands found his belt. Her nimble fingers quickly unbuckled it, unbuttoned his jeans and slid the zipper down. He drew in a deep breath on a hiss when her small hands smoothly slid under the waistband of his jeans and briefs to stroke and knead the bare skin of his bottom. When her head dipped to flick her tongue against his nipple, he quickly forgot his long-planned, slow seduction of the woman in his arms. His hands acted of their own accord, quickly freeing her from her pants – which she nonchalantly kicked to the side leaving her only in the scrap of lace and silk that left little barrier between his probing hands and her body. When a hand stroked the unfettered flesh of her bottom, she trembled, even as her hands hooked around the waistband of jeans and briefs, sliding them over his hips and thighs until they dropped to the floor.

"Come here, Laura…" he entreated on a gravelly, emotion filled voice, his hand threading through her hair to cup her neck, to urge her lips to meld with his. He murmured her name against her lips, leading her to draw away and move up onto the bed where she kneeled, before reaching for him and drawing his lips to hers again. Her hands threaded through his hair, and as she sank back on the mattress, he moved to join her. Brushing her hair over her shoulder, he lay his fingertips against her cheek, stroking it with short movements that were interspersed with short, tender brushes of his lips, kisses that continued as his fingers moved down her body, tracing the silhouette of her slender figure. She felt the quaking of his hand, as it smoothed across her abdomen, before it made its journey back upward, barely glancing across a breast and laying against her neck, caressing her softly as his lips pressed more firmly against hers, a flick of his tongue entreating entry. Instead of opening to him, Laura turned her head away while her hand reached for his where it lay, then lifted it, her eyes darting between his face and hand.

"You're…shaking," Laura whispered, surprise showing in her eyes when she looked at him.

Remington stole a glimpse at his hand before dipping his head back down to continue the kiss. He hadn't even realized. "Mmmm," he murmured, touching his lips to hers, "appears so." Another kiss.

"Are you nervous?"

"Mmmmm," he answered in the positive. Another kiss.

"Why?" she persisted.

Sighing, Remington stopped his attentions on her mouth as he recognized she was clearly going to pursue this. "Perhaps, because I am about to make love for the first time…" he touched his lips to her cheek "…with the woman who has captivated me from the moment I met her…" to one side of her forehead "…years ago" then the other "…my partner…" the tip of her nose "…my closest friend…" one eye "…my wife…" then the other. Lifting his head, he looked down at her, eyes holding hers, while a single finger ran along her face to her jaw, gently tipping it up, his lips hovering bare millimeters from hers. "Seems important that I get it right. The stakes are rather high."

"Then maybe you should get on it with." She teased lightly, drawing a chuckle from him, before his lips settled over hers and she opened to him without request.

Feeling the fingers of a hand feather up his spine, he began to move, to feel, to touch, to explore. He nibbled at her neck, and suckled it gently, resisting the urge to pull more firmly, to leave a mark of possession upon her. His hands explored her small breasts and found them once more to be a perfect fit to his palms, drawing a murmur of deep pleasure from him. He circled her bared nipple with a finger, then gently rubbed his thumb across the hardening nub, her quick intake of breath at the sensation stirring his body. He leaned up and kissed her deeply, then shifted downwards to replace his fingers with his mouth. Drawing her nipple into his mouth, he ran his tongue against it before suckling it softly, then a little more firmly as her body arched from the bed. When his tongue swiped over the tip, she moaned aloud, her hands clenching at his shoulders. All the while, his hand skimmed across her body, leaving a trail of heat behind.

Laura was being overwhelmed in the sensations he was creating in her. His hands were like a musician's, finding each of her most sensitive nerves and plucking them until they hummed. When his mouth moved away from her breast she felt lost, until his mouth claimed its twin next to it, and he began to create the melody of pleasure once more. Her hands seemed to take on a life of their own, one running through the hair of his head before applying pressure encouraging his ministrations, while the fingers of her other hand raked slowly up his back.

"It feels so good," she mumbled softly, "Your mouth, your hands. Don't stop."

He kissed her on the forehead, before taking her face in both of his hands and laying his lips gently on hers, simply holding them there. It was only when her hands stroked up his back, then clutched his shoulders giving him a gentle nudge downwards, that he shifted to take a breast in his mouth once more, while his hand provided equal attention to the other. Her deep sigh was accompanied by a hand in his hair, pressing on the back of his head, encouraging the flicks of his tongue, the soft pulls of his mouth, the gentle nips of his teeth. His hand left her breast, then stroked along her thighs as his lips pulled more firmly on her nipple. She lifted her hips from the bed, trying to show him where she needed to feel him most. Watching as her skin flushed, her breathing shortened, his fingers found the juncture of her thighs, then brushing aside wet, hot flesh, found the bundle of nerves hidden there. His finger circled and flicked against it drawing a deep moan from her. He felt the moment her body began to tighten, then pulled more firmly on her nipple. With a nip of his teeth, he sent her over the edge, her climax jolting her small frame. His lips lowered to hers as she cried out.

"Rem…" His name was swallowed by his mouth that had opened on top of hers, as his tongue sought the recesses of her mouth. He reveled in the feeling of her shuddering and twitching against his body, as he savored her sweet flavor.

"I need to feel you," she quietly pleaded, the moment his mouth left hers.

"Soon, love, soon. Turn over. I need to know all of you," he whispered. With a smile, she did as he asked, settling her head on her arms. He stretched out on his side next to her, propping himself on an elbow. He drank in her back, his eyes then shifting to her glorious backside, moving further down to feast on the long, shapely legs he'd admired from the day they first met. Spellbound, he ran the backs of his fingers down her spine, watching her muscles flex in response, as she sighed with pleasure.

He leaned over and laid his slightly open mouth at the base of her spine, following its path towards her neck, alternating between soft tugs of her skin into his mouth, sensual tastes by his tongue, as his hand explored the backs of her legs, then skimmed her bottom, reveling in its firmness and shape. Her body quaked beneath his assault on her senses. He suckled at the base of her spine, a smile forming against his lips as she squirmed beneath his lips. He delighted in watching her delectable bottom tighten in response.

"Ah, like that do you, love?"

"Yes," she admitted with a groan of pleasure.

"And when I do this?" He ran his hand up the inside of her thigh, eliciting another moan.

"How 'bout this?"

He leaned over and gently nipped at her shoulders, before sucking her skin into his mouth and leaving a mark where only he would see it, while his hand ran up the inside of her thighs again before a finger reached down to skim along her core. Laura's head reared back as her hand grabbed at the sheets beneath her, the feeling stunning in its intensity.

Flipping herself back over, she groped for his shoulders. Remington shifted himself on top of her, then seized her lips with his, the kiss wildly deep as his tongue plundered her mouth. Her arms reached around him, fingers digging into his shoulders trying to bring him closer to her. Her hips ground against him instinctively, providing excruciating pleasure as he felt the friction of their bodies against his length. He shifted downwards, providing himself some relief. The need to touch, taste, feel every nuance of her was almost greater than his need to bury himself in her.

"Have I ever told you, Laura, how much I enjoy kissing, tasting these glorious freckles of yours?" he murmured, as his head dipped to her upper chest to do exactly that, before running his tongue down the hollow between her breasts. Cupping one in his hand, he brushed his thumb across its sensitive tip, captivated as he watched the bud harden again, begging to be taken into his mouth. He lathed the nipple with his tongue, then sucked it into his mouth, tugging firmly as a hand ran over the plain of her firm abdomen before his fingers ran between her legs to explore.

Laura's body contracted, her thighs opening to give him more access, her hands grabbing at the sheets and twisting them. She cried out, her hips lifting off the bed, as a single finger slipped inside her and began to stroke. He waited until she began to settle, a second finger then joining first, as his mouth began to explore her neck, her breasts once more. His fingers stroked an excruciatingly delicious rhythm against the sensitive spot inside of her, as his mouth moved to suckle her neck, moving in small increments upward, until he found the sensitive spot under her ear and drew the skin there into his mouth, his tongue lathing it. The muscles of her core clenched down on his fingers, before she went over the precipice again.

"Remington, oh my God, Rem…" his lips cut off her words, the need to feel her heavy breath against his lips beckoning him. Only once the last shudder left her body, could she speak again.

"It's too much" she told him breathlessly, her body humming from the sensations he was creating.

Remington shifted upwards again, his hand moving from between her legs back to fondle her breast as his mouth grazed along her ear, before sucking the lobe into his mouth and running his tongue along it.

"Mmmm. I disagree, I've months to make up for," he whispered against her ear, before moving downward once more. His mouth ran over her abdomen before he skimmed his tongue around her navel. Reaching between them, he grabbed the underside of her thighs, lifting them until her legs were bent at the knees.

Laura writhed beneath him, losing herself in the spell he was weaving over her body. She arched suddenly, her body coming nearly completely off the bed, as his mouth plunged between her legs, caressing and nipping at the little bud contained between the folds. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, while reaching down and grabbing the hair of his head in her hands.

 _She tastes like heaven_ , he thought then instantly corrected himself. _No, she tastes like home._ Lifting his head for a moment, he saw she had her teeth sunk in her lower lip, fighting the sounds he wanted to hear. He ran his hand between her legs then slid a finger inside her. She arched wildly against him. Still stroking her, he kissed his way up her body "Let go, Laura, let go," he urged her softly, kissing her lips until her teeth let go and she began to respond. "Don't fight it."

Laura released her lips on a groan, as his fingers continued to press her towards the edge.

He kissed his way back down her body, stopping to linger on her breast, before burrowing his mouth in her again. As his tongue circled and his teeth nipped at the bud of sensation between her legs, a second finger joined the first. His hand moved slowly at first, stroking her lightly, teasing her, before gradually settling into a rhythm that increased in both tempo and pressure as he felt her muscles tauten, nerves quiver, her gasps and sighs leading his way.

Laura's orgasm tore his name from her throat, as she rode up the crest of the wave again and again before spinning back down to earth. The vision of her losing herself in the sensations he'd created in her enraptured him. He raised himself over her as her hand clasped the back of his head, their lips seeking and finding one another in an exquisite kiss that spoke wordlessly of what the moment meant to the both of them. Laura's hands slid from his neck to lay on either side of his face, softly nudging their lips apart so that she could look at him. The tenderness and love showing in his eyes she knew was a reflection of what he saw in her own. She toyed with the hair lying across his forehead, then leaned up, the soft touch of her lips against his speaking of the poignancy of the moment.

"Now," she urged between kisses on an aching whisper, "I need to feel you inside of me, Remington."

He froze for a moment at the words he'd been wanting, needing, to hear for years now. That she'd said them, admitted to her own need, nearly pushed him over the edge without ever making contact with her body. Keeping their eyes bound together, Remington shifted himself fully on top of her. Propping himself up on an elbow, he pulled her arms off his shoulders one at a time, stretching them out over her head, then twined her fingers with his own. He kissed her deeply then the kiss gentled, turned tender. He leaned up further and kissed each of her closed eyes.

"Open your eyes, love," he whispered. "I need to see you."

Her eyes fluttered open, dazed, filled with desire. His eyes held hers as he slowly entered her, only an inch or so, her gasp setting his blood on fire. The sensation of her wrapped around the tip of him, rendered him motionless. He was going to finally know what it meant to be a part of her, and wanted to savor every moment, memorize every nuance of her warmth enveloping him. His gaze settled on her face. He released one of her hands to run the back of his fingers over the side of her face, along her neck. _She's mine._ The realization overwhelmed him. _After four long, wonderful, torturous years, she's mine. Partner, friend, lover…wife._

This time, it was Laura who watched his eyes cloud over with thought, taking him away from her. She stroked her hands through his hair and moved her hips under his, urging him to move forward, yet still he remained motionless. She shook her head slightly, then on a small laugh, reached her hand between them and ran a finger over the length of his shaft that remained, disappointingly outside of her. She watched him jerk to alertness at the touch of her finger, and she smiled at him.

"Having doubts, Mr. Steele?" she teased, then smiled broadly when he looked at her, as a single brow rose, and the humor she adored returned to his eyes.

"Might be a tad too late for those, don't you think, Mrs. Steele?" he answered in turn. He dropped his head, lips grazing across her neck, before lifting back up again to rejoin eye contact with her.

"I have to wonder if you're thinking we've turned the corner too soon. It's only been four years..." Her breath caught on a gasp, as he flicked his hips and moved further inward, felt herself stretch to accommodate him, as his fingers returned to lace with hers. She closed her eyes at the sensation, finding herself getting lost in it, only for him to withdraw slightly, drawing a moan from her at the loss. Her eyes flew open, saw him smirking at her.

"I suppose we could retreat, wait another year. It occurs to me it would be a particularly novel way to celebrate one's first anniversary...truly consummating the relationship for the first time..." his breath caught in his throat as Laura tilted her hips, pressed upwards, taking him further inside as her muscles clenched around him. She cast a smug smile his way.

"Only one? Why not two? To celebrate your becoming a citizen? Just imagine the anticipation." she replied on a shallow breath, her body beginning to shake with need as he moved in short strokes within her.

"Then again, we've already waited until we married..." clenching his teeth against the sensation of her tight, wet warmth, he slowly slid nearly all the way in. He exhaled with a hiss through his teeth as her muscles clenched him, adjusting to him while with a tilt of her hips she wrapped her legs around the back of his thighs, pulling him against her until he was buried to the hilt. He dropped his head onto her shoulder, spellbound by the feeling of her tight, hot sheath enveloping him.

"Finally," she mumbled. He lifted his head to look at her and he realized immediately that she meant not only the moment here and now, but even more so after the four years wait. He kissed her fiercely before dropping his forehead to lie against hers, and tightening his fingers around her own, he began to move.

"My God, babe," he whispered in a husky, emotion laden voice, "you feel like heaven."

A tremor ran through Laura's body at the endearment that had come from his lips. She pried her hands from his, to lay them on either side of his face. He paused in his motion when he saw the look in her eyes, stunned by its intensity. He lowered his body down on hers so that he could cup her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing her cheeks, as he looked at her questioningly.

"You haven't called me that..."

"...since the day I thought you'd been taken from me." He finished the thought for her, remembering the joy that had coursed through him when he realized she was alive, still with him. The intensity of that moment three years prior coursed through his body now, and he understood in an instant what she'd felt when the words had left his mouth.

He kissed her longingly, then unable to wait any longer to make her truly his, reclaimed her hands in his, pushing himself up on his elbows before he withdrew nearly all the way then slowly thrust himself back into her, goosebumps dotting his skin in reaction to her cry of pleasure. He repeated the movement, withdrawing almost completely once more before making his way back all the way deep into her again, releasing a staccato breath as her legs moved upwards to wrap around his hips, trying to bury him even deeper inside. It was all he could do to hold back. She fit him like a glove, as he always knew she would, and the thought was nearly enough to send him over the edge.

Laura's body automatically began meeting his thrusts, matching his pace… slow… easy… intoxicating. Her soft moans and contented sighs caressed and healed a battered heart. He would break eye contact here and there, to drop kisses on her mouth, her cheeks, her forehead…but always they would return to her. Their hands remained clamped together, fingers locked. Circling his hips while moving within her, he slowly coaxed her over the edge, her legs moving over his buttocks to wrap around his thighs in the seconds before she shattered.

"Oh God, Rem…," she murmured, her hands clutching at his when he buried himself fully within her.

"Laura," he whispered against her neck, his open mouth rubbing against her shoulder, tasting her skin as her contracting muscles pulled him over the edge with her, and with a final thrust buried himself fully within her as he came apart. He lay his forehead against hers as he found his release, his warm breath feathering across her skin when he told her on a stuttered sigh, "what you do to me, love." The feeling of him shuddering inside her with his own release prolonged Laura's own orgasm. When at last it had waned, she lifted her head so that her lips touched his. He burrowed his face in her shoulder, breathing heavily, as he tried to find his center in the aftermath.

"It's never felt this way before, love," he spoke the words softly against her neck. "I've always believed you'd be my match in every way, but this…" His words trailed off when he was unable to find the right ones.

"'I never knew it could be like this. Nobody ever kissed me the way that you do'," she whispered against his ear, as her hands stroked his back in a soothing rhythm.

" _From Here to Eternity_. Montgomery Clift, Deborah Kerr, Burt Lancaster, Columbia Pictures, 1953," he murmured with a smile against her neck. His lips found hers as he carefully slipped free of her, while turning them to their sides to face one another. They kissed, slowly, lazily for several minutes, as one hand brushed up and down her spine, from neck to bottom, while his other hand soothed along her face, weaved through her hair, caressed her neck. He caught her eyes with his, kissing her again, then simply laid his lips against hers for several long moments, as long, slim fingers continued to feather across her small frame, trying to memorize it. On a soft sigh, she snuggled into his chest and fell asleep, as he smiled the contented smile of a man who knew he had loved his woman well.

Holding her, a hand continuing its comforting caress across her hair and back as she slept, his mind wandered back to their conversation weeks earlier, when they had discussed their reticence about going to bed with one another.

* * *

 _ **Why do we always draw the line at the bedroom door?" he asked her, tackling the issue head on.**_

 _ **"I don't know. I guess the timing's never been quite right. When one of us was ready, the other wasn't."**_

 _ **"But haven't we been avoiding it? Afraid of what comes after that magical moment?"**_

 _ **"What does come after?"**_

 _ **"I don't know."**_

 **"** _ **That's the scary part."**_

* * *

Brushing her hair back from her face, he skimmed his fingers along the side of it, before tucking her back against his chest, where even in her sleep she rubbed her face against him until she found the sweetest position and settled back in. His heart lurched as her fingers meandered across his chest until they found the soothing rhythm of his heart, her palm flattening against him there and remaining. He tipped his head down and brushed his lips over the top of her head.

For four years, he had been unable to return to his old life, because he could not walk away from her. He'd suspected for nearly as long what would happen once they made love, for himself, and had never denied it scared the living hell out of him. Tonight he knew that his suspicions were correct. Now that he had held her, tasted her, felt himself buried inside of her, he knew he would never be able to let her go… not that he'd been able to before. He wanted it all with her: their marriage, a home, children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, even matching bloody rocking chairs where they could sit together when they were eighty years old.

It didn't occur to him until that last moment before he sunk into sleep, that he still had no idea what the morning after that magical moment would mean for Laura.


	14. Chapter 14

Please note: This chapter includes NC-17 content. If you are uncomfortable with such content or under 18 please continue on to Chapter 15.

* * *

Chapter 14: Contentment

Laura's eyes fluttered open, a smile slowly lifting her lips when she found Remington wrapped around her. They'd shifted sometime in their sleep, and now she lay tucked into his body, her back pressed to his front, one of his legs tucked between her own. As had been the case from the first moment she'd given them a greenlight to move ahead towards more physical intimacy, one of his hands had claimed a breast, cupping it as he slept, while his other arm was wrapped possessively around her waist, his hand clutching her hip. She sighed a contented sigh. She, a woman of the 80's, liked nothing more than waking to find the man she loved wrapped around her possessively. She gave a short laugh and a small shrug.

 _It is what it is. It might irritate feminists everywhere, but the fact remains: Independent woman that I am, I love that even in his sleep he feels the need to keep me close, to know I'm his. Not that I'd let him know that. The man's ego would inflate to gargantuan proportions._

Running a hand down the length of his arm, Laura lifted his hand off of her breast, and held it before her eyes, studying it as her fingers traced the palm, each long digit in turn. Now, that they had at last turned that corner, she understood his almost urgent need across the years to make love with her. For much of their time together, she had been convinced that it was a matter of conquest. Certainly Daniel had helped nurture that belief when he'd told her nearly two years ago that the only reason Remington was sticking around was because he'd yet to experience the "ultimate moment" with her. Daniel's words had only reiterated her fear that once they turned that corner, he would move on, leaving her picking up the pieces of her broken heart. She'd never doubted that he cared for her on some level – as a partner, as a friend. Yet, still, perhaps because of his honesty that he could not promise to stay coupled with Daniel's beliefs, somewhere along the way making love with him and losing him had become irrevocably linked in her mind.

It had not helped, of course, that she believed him uttering those three words would prevent that from happening. He'd been trying to tell her, in that halting, tongue-tied way of his when the topic of emotions entered the picture, that in his old world words were used to manipulate, to coerce, to con. Now, she understood had those three words meant nothing to him where she was concerned, they would have rolled off his tongue with ease. It was because the words meant everything that he'd been unable to speak them. After a lifetime being taught that words hold no meaning, suddenly they were full of meaning. They had both the ability to hurt and the ability to heal; the ability to keep them together or tear them apart. Once the words had taken on meaning, they had become nearly impossible to say.

Laura brought his hand to her mouth, and lay her lips against his palm before returning to tracing each line on his palm, fingers. Tonight she'd realized he'd been speaking the words to her for years, each time his fingers sought her out to touch, to assure himself that she was there.

That morning on the beach near the Friedlich Spa, as they'd tried to heal the rift caused by words spoken out of frustration, insecurity and then later anger, he'd attempted to explain it to her, but while they had indeed healed, she still hadn't understood the true meaning of the messages hidden within the words he'd spoken.

" _ **Before, I didn't know where I'd be next day- or with whom. Didn't really matter, though. I always liked it like that. But then it all changed the day I met you."**_

" _ **Where I come from, I learned to read people by what they did, not by what they said. There are too many traps in that."**_

Laying his hand on the bed, she wriggled around in his arms, doing her best not to disturb his sleep. She held a cautious breath as he shifted in response to her movements, but only in as much as to wrap the arm she'd laid aside around her back, his hand resting just below her breast against her ribs. She waited until he stilled, and only then did she lay splayed fingers against his chest. Her fingers neither strayed, nor moved at all. She contented herself in just the feel of him under her fingers, as his chest rose and fell while he slept.

He'd stayed, for her. In that simple act, all those years before, he'd acknowledged there was something between them - nameless, unidentified, nothing more than an instinct that _this_ , whatever it was, that had sparked between them that first moment their eyes had met in the office of the Remington Steele Detective Agency was worth taking a risk. To make a change. She'd had the same intuition, and contrary to any logic, she'd entrusted the man who had come into her life to steal the jewels she was hired to protect with the most precious thing she had at the time: the role of Remington Steele.

He'd stayed when she'd ended their personal relationship while they were in Cannes. Glancing up at his face relaxed in slumber, she admitted to herself that it had been a test, in many ways. Would he stay? Would he give her the time she needed? Would he return to his womanizing, or would he wait? Would he respect her request, or try to manipulate her into changing her mind? He had stayed. He had given her time. He had waited. And, much to her disappointment – except for the occasional step over the line, after which he'd hastily retreat – never attempted to change her mind. It was as though he was telling her, without words, that since it was she that had drawn the line in the sand, it was she that would have to erase it. He'd needed to know, as much as she, that this, they, mattered to her.

Laura leaned up, and lay her lips against his. She smiled as he responded with a soft kiss of his own, even as he slumbered, as he always did. He was aware of her presence, or lack thereof, even as he dreamed. With a soft smile, she reached up and smoothed his hair back behind his ear, before returning her hand to his chest and her mind to her thoughts.

He'd come home with her from London. Despite the fact that she'd ended them twice within a year. Despite the fact the he believed she'd left him the last time for another man. Even more so, he'd given himself over to them without reservation, committing to her, to them, and only wanting more: more time, more of her presence, more intimacy. Yes, he'd wanted them to turn that corner, at times desperately…so had she. But what he craved most was the intimacy between them. Evenings spent curled up together watching a movie; dancing quietly while wrapped in each other's arms; to hold her at night while she slept; to wake to her in the morning; to share quiet breakfasts together; to make her meals at night.

He'd been showing her for years through his actions what she meant to him. She'd simply wanted the words. She'd needed those three words to believe, or so she thought.

But when they'd made love, she learned otherwise.

It had always been there, she simply hadn't seen. Those small touches that he was prone to, that had only increased in frequency throughout the years. They'd been not only present as they'd made love, they'd been omnipresent. Touches not meant to arouse, but touches meant to assure himself this was real, to satisfy his ever-present need for a connection to her, but most of all, meant to convey what she was to him. His love was in the touch of his lips against her eyes, the feathery glance against her lips; in how he lay the tips of his fingers against her cheek; in how he'd brush a single finger along her cheek bone; in the way his hands traced her silhouette, memorized the feel of her ribs, constantly sought out the contour of her neck; in the light touch of her hair. But, most of all, it was present in how he'd laced their hands together when they'd come together the first time; in the lying of his forehead against her own; and in how he would need to feel her pressed against him when she'd find her release. It was intimacy he sought, contact he craved, closeness that he'd needed throughout. Each of these things, all of them, told her without words the depth of his feelings for her.

On a quick and shaky inhale of breath, she realized that this man who held her loved her more than she could have hoped for, let alone expected and certainly more than three meager words, as weighty as they were, could adequately express. The realization brought on a pressing need to show him what he meant to her in the language he trusted most: through acts.

Tilting her head up, Laura pressed her lips against his while her hand left his chest to journey down his back and over his delicious bum. Feeling his lips lift in a smile under hers, she returned her hand to his chest, scraping her nails lightly through the dense hair, before pulling back and finding bright blue eyes lit with tenderness staring down at her. Her breath caught in her throat and her heart did a brief pitty-patter as she found herself unable to tear her eyes away from him. It took her a moment to regain enough sense to lay her hand against his cheek and offer a soft, "Hi."

His smiled widened at the unexpected greeting. "Hi, yourself," he answered, as he shimmied himself slightly lower, so that they were eye-to-eye.

Laura rubbed at thumb across his lips, her eyes not leaving his. "I want you." She watched as his eyes darkened to a deep blue at her words, while his hand twined in her hair to press gently against the back of her head, drawing her lips towards his.

"I'm all yours," he murmured against her lips, before his mouth settled over hers in a series of supple kisses that curled her toes. At a gentle nudge of her hand on his shoulder, Remington rolled to his back taking Laura with him, their lips never separating. Breaking off the kiss, she pushed herself up on her arms and looked down at him with a smile.

"You will be," she promised, on a sultry voice. Reclaiming his lips, she kissed him long and deep, his chest heaving when the kiss ended.

"Appears so," he noted with a breathless smile, delight sparkling in his eyes. He closed his eyes, and a hummed a hum of bliss when her lips began a sensual pilgrimage down his neck.

True to her promise to herself, Laura used her hands, her mouth, and her body to show him… twice… how much he meant to her. When she was done, it was she that held him in her arms, his head resting against her breast as he dozed off, a sheen of sweat coating his exhausted body. A smile played against her lips as she fell asleep shortly after him, knowing as she did that she had loved her man and loved him well.

* * *

He woke shortly before midnight, face down on the bed to find himself alone. Pushing himself up onto his arms, he groaned softly as aching muscles reminded him of the exquisite escapades in which he and Laura had indulged over the last several hours. A wide smile crossed his face as he wondered where his enchanting partner and wife had taken herself off to. Was it only this morning that he'd feared she'd taken her leave, finally ending them once and for all? While this morning the thought was cause for utter panic, now the thought was cause for a quiet laugh. There was not a single doubt in his mind that wherever she'd gone, she'd soon return. Her words attested to it; even more so her actions. Never in his life had a woman made love to him as she had, determined not only to bring him incomparable bliss but even more so, to show through her actions what she felt for him. For the first time in all the years they'd danced around one another, he believed that they would at last become all they were meant to be to one another.

When his mind finally registered the sound of the running water from the shower, he rolled out of the bed, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. When he slipped into the shower behind her, Laura uttered not a single word but simply turned to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, the press of her fingers against the back of his head urging him down for mind-numbing kiss, which, of course, ended in very predictable results. Years of self-enforced celibacy coupled with repressed desire left them both realizing their bodies and hearts would not be sated any time soon.

Afterwards, as Remington massaged Laura's scalp while enjoyably washing her hair, her stomach growled loudly. He laughed aloud, while she scrunched her face at the intrusion of basic needs such as food and drink. After she reciprocated by washing his hair as well, during which he'd hummed his pleasure, they toweled off and donned robes.

"Let's go get you fed, Mrs. Steele," Remington suggested, dragging a somewhat reluctant Laura behind him towards the bedroom door. Surprised by her reticence, he turned and gave her a curious look, knowing full well that Laura Holt never turned down food. Stepping into him, she wrapped her arms around his waist before tipping her head up to look at him.

"I don't want to share you yet," she admitted. His heart gave a sharp tug at her words. It was the closest she had ever come to claiming him for herself. Bracing her head in both of his hands, he leaned down and pressed his lips softly against hers, letting them linger for a few moments.

"You won't have to," he vowed quietly. "I give you my word, I'll fire anyone, Mildred included, should they so much as speak a word to either of us," he told her glibly, with a wag of his brows. Laura laughed softly, then touched her lips to his briefly.

"I don't know if you need to go that far, but the thought is nice." At another tug of her hand, she followed him from the room and through the quiet halls of the castle to the kitchen.

Lifting her easily, Remington plunked Laura down on the counter of the island, while he turned to the refrigerator to assess possible selections. Crossing her legs, her hand toyed with the sash of her robe while waiting on him to pull something, anything, from the fridge that she could snack on while he prepared whatever meal came to his mind. Opening the door, he was pleased to see the staff had kept their word, extracted at the meeting with them earlier in the day, and found the fridge stocked to the brim.

"Hot or cold?" he asked, as he moved around various packages to assess what he had at his disposal. Laura's eyes roamed over his slim body, bent over as he peered through the shelves. He eyes settled on his bum, its contours and ridges nicely framed by the silk robe covering it. Her tongue flicked at her lips. _Hot, definitely hot,_ she assessed.

"Cold," she answered aloud. He hummed acknowledgment of her answer.

"Light or filling?" A blush spread up Laura's chest to her face at the memory of Remington moving over her, under her, in her. _Filling, definitely, definitely, filling,_ she thought, her teeth biting down on her lip as her breathing grew shallow.

"Light," she answered breathily. Turning his head slightly, he glanced at her, then grinned at the blush pinkening her skin. _Where has your mind wandered off to, Mrs. Steele?_ he wondered, although he had his suspicions. _Time to test the waters._

"Fast or slow?" he asked casually, moving items about in the fridge as he looked back at her. Laura closed her eyes, her tongue running across her lips. Each time they had made love so far it had been intoxicatingly, tantalizingly slow, even their little rendezvous in the shower. At the thought of simply their hunger for one another driving them, her lips rounded as she exhaled slowly. _A little fast here and there please,_ she thought to herself.

"Fast," she answered, trying to quell her racing pulse. This time, it was Remington's tongue that found his lips as his breathing quickened, her physical reaction to his question as arousing as her hands and mouth exploring his body. _That deliciously agile, creative mind of yours, my love, is bound to be the best friend both of us have ever had,_ he reflected appreciatively. Catching the quick quirk of the corner of Laura's mouth, he realized she had made notice of his own reaction to her. Knowing full well she would turn the game on its ear on his next question, he decided on a more direct approach.

Closing the refrigerator door, he crossed over to the island. With a gentle nudge of his hand, he brushed her crossed leg aside and moved to stand between her legs. Grasping her hips with his hands, he pulled her towards him. Smoldering amber eyes caught and held with white hot blue eyes, as Laura's hands tugged the sash of Remington's robe free then smoothed it open. Closing his eyes and immersing himself in sensation, his pulse quickened as Laura's hands skimmed over his sides, then ribs before finding his chest, paused to explore for a few moments, then ran over his shoulders to loop her arms around his neck, drawing him closer. Long, tapered fingers brushed over her neck, before hooking around the back of it drawing her lips up towards his as head descended. The kiss began hard, deep, passionate, before it tapered off to a soft caress, mimicking the last question he'd withheld. After a quick tug on the sash of her robe, he ran a lone finger along the juncture of her thighs, and found her wet, hot and ready for him.

"Hard or easy, love?" he whispered, as his lips hovered above hers. At the softly spoken endearment, her fingers threaded through the hair at the back of his head, then pressed against the back of it until his lips merged with hers again. Laura's mouth fairly ravaged his, her tongue sweeping hungrily, greedily against his own, sending jolts of pleasure through both of their bodies and leaving them breathless when she pulled away. They stared at one another, lips parted, almost shocked at the depth of their need so soon on the heels of their tete-a-tete in the shower. Her lips lingered on his, fluttering across them as she spoke.

"Wherever the mood at the time takes us," she answered, her fingers running through his hair. With a groan of pleasure at her words, his mouth claimed hers voraciously as his hands grasped the cheeks of her bottom tugging her towards the edge of the counter, then tilting her hips upwards, he slid hard and fast into her hot, wet depth. They both gasped at the sudden joining, then looked at one another with fire in their eyes. He bent over her, forcing her back against the counter, his mouth finding the crook of her neck feasting fervently on her skin as her legs hooked around the back of his thighs, urging him to move. She cried out his name softly, as he began to plunge hard and fast into her tight depth, her hips rising to match him thrust for wild thrust. Her back arched and legs tightened around his when his mouth clamped down on a shoulder, sucking deeply. She shattered, her fingers digging into the back of his shoulders, her clenching muscles pulling him over the precipice with her.

"My God, babe," he moaned on a heavy breath, pulling her tight against him as he pulsated again and again within in her. She moved her head, searching for his lips, kissing him tenderly as his body jolted against hers. Only when the last of the blissful shudders ran through his body, could he speak again. "What am I going to do with you?" he asked on a gasp, as he wrested his head from her shoulder, his hands brushing tenderly along the sides of her face, his eyes finding hers, holding them.

"Love me," she answered, breathlessly, pulling his head back down so her lips could find his again. He kissed her softly before pulling away and burrowing his face in her neck, inhaling her scent deeply, as his arms slid under her back, wrapping around it, and pulling her upright with him, holding her tight against him, bodies still joined.

"I will, love," he promised her, his lips finding her neck, brushing against it. "I will."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15: Pieces of Past and Present

Bodies fed and appetites sated for the moment, Laura and Remington returned to their room. While he stretched out on the bed, reclining against the headboard, she gathered up her two letters from Daniel before joining him. Lying on her back, her head pillowed on his thigh, Laura held up the unopened letter, silently asking if he was ready for more of his father's revelations. He briefly closed his eyes then nodded reluctantly. With an understanding smile, she reached back and stroked his side comfortingly for a few moments, before focusing her attention on the envelope. Sliding her finger under the flap, she popped it open and extracted the contents.

Opening the first sheaf of paper, she frowned slightly. Noting her expression, Remington gave her a puzzled glance.

"What is it, Laura?" he asked. She glanced up at him then back at the paper she held in her hand.

"It appears to be a letter to someone named Sinclair. An old one at that. It's dated September 10th, 1952." She turned the letter in her hand so he could view it. Taking it from her hand, he quickly scanned the contents, then read it aloud:

" _Mr. Sinclair –_

 _The decision to write this missive has been a difficult one and I have prayed heartily over the matter. Despite your misdeeds,  
I believe I would not be a good Christian woman if I were to judge you for those things that the Good Book teaches us only  
the Lord above has the right to make judgment upon and demand repentance. Thus, I feel it is my duty to inform you that two  
weeks ago today, I was acting as midwife to Fiona Duffy when she brought your babe into this world. Regretfully, the lass passed  
shortly after giving birth to the child, a son. He was a beautiful babe, indeed, with hair dark as the night sky and eyes as blue as  
the sea. As there was no family to care for him and taking into consideration your current condition, it was deemed to be in the  
best interest of the child that he be given over to the Church for suitable placement. Enclosed you will find a photograph of his  
_ _likeness on the day he was relinquished by me to them._

 _Yours in Christ,_

 _Mary Frances O'Connell"_

Laura watched Remington as he lay the letter aside on the bed, then ran his hand over his lower face.

"It's somehow fitting, eh?" he asked in a quiet, desolate voice before releasing a low mirthless laugh. Laura pushed herself up and turned on the bed to sit facing him.

"I don't understand," she told him with a shake of her head.

"'The man with no name' being the born the child of two people also without a true name?" He laughed again as he nudged her aside then pushed himself off the bed and began to pace, swiping his hand through his hair. "All these years, Laura, all the bloody time wasted trying to find a name when there was never proof of my existence, never a name to be found at all."

"I'm afraid I'm not following you," she told him with a shake of her head. "What does a letter to someone named Sinclair have to do with you at all?"

" _Leighton_ Sinclair, Laura," he answered in frustration, drawing out her name. "The name of Daniel's favored alias when traveling amongst the British Isles."

"The name on one of his passports I found that day in your apartment," she noted thoughtfully as the recognition dawned on her. Her eyes widened, lit with excitement. "That would make Fiona Duffy your mother! Surely she had fam –"

"Another alias," he interrupted her with a wave of his hand.

"You don't know that," she began, only for him to cut her off again.

"I do. I do know that, Laura," he told her, his voice rising with his frustration. Walking over to the dresser, he grabbed Daniel's letter to him and tossed it on the bed. "It's all right there, in Daniel's letter to me. She was living under an alias. He didn't even know her real name."

"Still, we could find out who they are…" Remington interrupted her again.

"To what end? She was disjoined from them. They wouldn't know my real name, any more than I." Lowering himself to sit upon an end table halfway across the room from her, he ducked his head down, swiping at his hair before looking back up at her. "Well, one thing is clear, that is for certain. I'll never be able to give you the one thing you've ever needed from me."

"I've told you before – I don't need a name," she told him with a shake of her head. "As far at Los Angeles, even the world at large, is concerned, you already have one. It's Remington Steele." He waved his hand across his body dismissing her thoughts on the matter.

"That may be true, but it does me little good if the person that matters most to me feels like – How did you put it?" he asked, as though trying to remember the words that had stung so deeply. "Ah, yes, 'a fool' calling me either 'Mr. Steele' or 'Remington'." Laura visibly cringed as he threw back at her the words she'd used to wound him out of anger.

"I never should have said that. It wasn't… fair of me." She shook her hands and tossed up her hands helplessly. "I was angry," she finished in a dolorous voice.

"Perhaps, but angry or not, it doesn't make it any less true," he pointed out. "How many times over the years have you asked me for my real name? How many times have you made it a point to remind me that this is a name bestowed… borrowed…not owned? It will always be the name of the mythical boss you created in that fertile imagination of yours and as such it will always become between us."

They both fell silent, Remington wrapped up in the endless quagmire that seemed to be his life, while Laura castigated herself. _He's not wrong. From almost the day we met, I've demanded his real name, but only because I believed he was choosing to keep it from me. Over time it became almost proof that he would never truly let me in. But even then, had I not seen for myself as he searched and kept coming up empty handed, if he'd told me he had no idea what his real name was, had never even had one, I wouldn't have believed him. Just another con._ She closed her eyes and sighed deeply. _I don't want him to be Remington Steele because that is what he thinks I need him to be. I want him to be the person he needs to be, the person he truly sees himself as._

Laura stirred from her thoughts and looked across the room at him. "Can I ask you something?" she queried.

"As if I said no, it would stop you," he joked wearily.

"Probably not," Laura acknowledged on a laugh, then plunged ahead into her question. "When you think of yourself, what name do you call yourself by? Harry? Michael? Remington? Douglas? Another name?" He looked at her morosely, then with a swipe of his hand across his face, looked away.

"Don't you already know the answer to that, Laura?" he asked.

"Maybe," she acknowledged. "But I want to hear it from you. No attempts to evade, no telling me what you _think_ it is I want to hear. I want the truth. Who are you, to you?" Remington pushed himself to his feet and began to pace again.

"Ah, Laura," he began on a sigh of frustration. "Do you recall what I told you when DesCoines made his second appearance in our lives?" Laura snorted softly. _As if I could ever forget. It was one of the most honest conversations we'd had with one another up until that point. No evasions, no half-truths. If we were going to die that day, there was little point in trying to hide from one another._

" _ **I believe in whoever I am at the moment. And, when that doesn't work anymore, I become someone else."**_

"Yes," she answered simply.

"There is only one name that I've ever tried to earn the right to keep as my own. I changed who I was, what I was, to try and live up to the man you had in mind when you created Remington Steele. Perhaps not always successfully, but I've at least tried. It's the single name that I've gone by for more than a few months, at most. The only name, outside of those first couple of days that _you've_ ever called me by. I don't know when it happened, precisely, but at some point I stopped thinking of myself only as 'old sport' in my head and…" he broke off his words with a hard shake of his head.

"Say it," Laura urged him quietly. "You're not 'old sport' any longer. Who are you to yourself? Not to me. _To you._ " His hand swiped roughly at his hair as he exhaled heavily.

"You already know the answer, Laura," he answered resignedly.

" _Say it_ ," she demanded. With a shake of his head he raked his hand through his hair again.

"Remington Steele," he answered, then rushed on to argue vociferously, "But again, Laura, it _doesn't matter_ what name I call myself by when _you_ can't envision me by the name. When you are… uncomfortable… using it. _That's_ what matters!" Laura shook her head and let out a soft puff of air through parted lips.

"Come here," she quietly implored. "Come sit with me." Reluctantly, he did as she bade. Her fingers reached out to weave through the hair at the side of his head.

"When I hear the name 'Remington Steele,' what do you think is the first thing that comes to my mind?" When he remained quiet, she continued on. "I don't think of the Agency or of the mythical man I created. I _think_ of _you_ , and _only you_."

"That may be, Laura, but even putting aside what you said in Mexico, do you think I've not noticed how… difficult… it is for you to call me Remington even months later?" He laughed quietly, sardonically. "Call it whatever you wish, but I rather prefer my wife to be able to call me by my name… my first name. If you can't do that…" Laura's laughter stopped him cold. She waved her hand at him for a second, as she gathered her wits.

"Do you think it would be any easier going from what I've called you, thought of you as, for nearly five years if you chose to go by Harry, or Michael or any other name for that matter? Would it be any easier for _you_ if I suddenly asked you to call me Elizabeth instead of Laura or Miss Holt?" Remington looked at her aghast, but even so she watched as he visibly began to relax at her words. Her hand moved to his next, stroking it lightly. "My point is, you were Mr. Steele to me when we became friends, then partners. You were Mr. Steele throughout this rather convoluted… romance… of ours, when I fell in love with you. That name holds very real, very special meaning to me, so yes, I've had some difficulty… adjusting… to calling you anything but that. And that's before you even take into consideration your rather, shall we say, weighty, first name."

"Weighty?" he asked, pretending offense and quirking his brow at her. "I see it as… sophisticated, a classic old English name at that."

"Yes, well, you're not the one trying to say it during moments of…" she searched her mind for the right words.

"Exquisite distraction?" he supplied with a wag of his brows. Laura laughed.

"That's as good of a description as any," she agreed. "There is no… convenient… abbreviation and I promise you, hell will freeze over before I call you 'Remy' like the numerous bimbos you used to parade through the office did."

"Well thank heavens for that," he agreed, with a visible shudder, "as I loathe the appellation myself." Remington shifted on the bed to recline back against the headboard. "Besides, it occurs to me," he continued, while giving Laura a nudge, "that you've already come up with a moniker on your own."

"Oh, I have, have I?" she laughed, as she picked up the papers she'd abandoned and lay her head back against his thigh, stretching out across the bed on her back. "And what's that?" He looked at her askance, then laughed quietly when he realized she knew perfectly well to what he was referring based on the flush climbing her skin. His fingers began to toy with her hair.

"I find myself inordinately fond of it," he admitted. "No one's called me by that particular variation before, and it occurs to me it would be just…"

"Ours," she said, finishing his thought, reaching her hand back to stroke her fingers across the back of the hand playing in her hair.

"Mmmmm," he hummed in agreement, then nodding at the papers in her hands asked, "What else have we got there, eh?" Laura turned her attention back to the papers in her hand and unfolded the next. Skimming it, she hummed, then handed it back to Remington. Skimming it himself he looked down at Laura, perplexed.

"A notarized statement of paternity signed as Leighton Sinclair? I don't understand, do you?" She lifted the corner of her mouth and her brows, clearly equally puzzled.

"I have no idea, either. But clearly Daniel thought it meant something."

"Yes, but what?" With a lift of her shoulders, she shook her head, before opening the final piece of paper, three smaller pieces of paper fell from its folds, which Laura distractedly picked up and placed on her stomach while scanning Daniel's few meager words before reading them aloud.

 _My Dear Laura –_

 _There were only four things that traveled with me each place I moved, the four things I treasured most in my life. The pocket  
watch which, of course, I intended Harry to have one day and will be his after I am gone - and these. While Harry will never  
be able to give you the full story of his past that you hunger for, I can at least give you these few pieces of it. I treasured them,  
_ _as I know you will as well._

 _~ Daniel_

Laura handed the letter back to Remington to read for himself, then picked up the three pieces of paper she had laid on her stomach. First glance had her shooting up in a sitting position staring at the objects held in her hands.

"Oh my," she breathed. Behind her, he raised a brow in her direction.

"Dare I ask?" he inquired, amused. Rather than answering, she scooted herself across the bed, then lifted herself up to sit between his legs. Adjusting against the backboard and pillows, he settled in with her back pressed to his chest, her head resting against a shoulder. "Keeping me close lest I bolt, Mrs. Steele?" he asked lightly, in antithesis to the feeling of anxiety that was building as her silence lingered on. She lifted a hand and rubbed it against his neck.

"Pictures, of you," she told him in awe. "'Baby Duffy, b. 27 Aug 52, age 2 weeks,'" she read aloud, then turned the black and white photograph over, feathering a finger across the faded image of the sleeping infant. "Look at all that hair," she mused while, with some reluctance, handing him the photo. Remington stared at the picture, bewilderment and shock playing across his face.

"How is it that I've never seen this before," he asked in a dazed voice. "It's not as though Daniel and I had much lying about, even in our better off days."

"It's clear how much that picture meant to Daniel," she pointed out. "It's in amazing condition given the number of years he must have carried it with him…" she trailed off as she focused on the second picture. "'Aidan, 12 Dec 1957'." She smoothed her fingers across the face of the little boy with dark hair spilling over his forehead and a cheeky little grin playing across his lips. "The eyes, the nose, the lips…. that smile. I would have known it was you without anyone ever telling me," she told him softly.

Remington leaned his head over her shoulder to look at that picture, drawing Laura to rub her cheek against his own.

"And look at your chubby little cheeks," she laughed. "They're… adorable! And those ears…", she trailed off on a trickle of laughter.

"What about them?" he asked in mock offense, as he reached up and touched an ear without thought.

"Let's just say you grew into them, thank God," she laughed again. He cocked his head as she tilted her head back to look at him, and playfully gave her a disgruntled look.

"Funny, I think I was a rather handsome tyke," he grumbled, clearly fishing for a compliment after her critical opinion of his ears. She rubbed her hand across his jaw.

"Mmmm, very handsome," she agreed, then returned to the picture to trace a finger over the boy's lips again. "You look happy here."

"Hmmm," he hummed his agreement, then took the picture from her hand and turned it back over. "Aidan. This would have been taken while I was with the Shannahans. As I told you this afternoon, I'd believed I had a home, was loved. I was quite happy." He frowned slightly. "How, do you think, Daniel managed to get hold of this?"

"I have no idea. But however he managed it, I'm glad he did," she answered, leaning her head back to buss his neck before turning her concentration to the final photograph. "'Harry, 1967.'" Turning the picture over, she softly exhaled as she found herself staring at a younger version of the man she was currently nestled against. At her lengthy silence, Remington squirmed behind her.

"Hadn't quite grown into my face yet," he mumbled uncomfortably. After another minute of silence, he tried again. "Cheeks hadn't quite thinned out yet." Laura reached her hand back and absently patted his cheek.

"Frances would have referred to you as 'quite the hunk,'" she commented absently, her focus still on the picture. Rearing back away from her slightly, he looked at her as though he suddenly had a foul taste in his mouth.

"Laura, say what you will, but I don't believe there is a man alive who would be particularly flattered, when seeking a little reassurance, with a response of 'my older sister would have thought you good looking,'" he commented drily. Laura blinked when his words registered then turned to look at him laughing.

"That's _not_ an improvement," he observed acerbically, a frown creasing his brow.

"I'm sorry," she offered as she continued to laugh. "But I would've been ten-and-a-half, maybe eleven years old when this picture was taken. The only interest I had in boys at that age was whether or not one of them threw a better curveball than I."

"And had you been fourteen or fifteen like myself?" Laura pursed her lips then studied his picture again.

"I imagine," she answered slowly, carefully choosing her words, "that if you'd have allowed me to see what was on the inside, as you have since coming into my life, then I would've hoped you were the first boy to kiss me." The corners of his mouth quirked upwards at her words.

"Very nicely put, Mrs. Steele," he praised, inordinately pleased by her words. "So what is it about this picture that seems to have… distracted… you?"

"The… wariness, the distrust in your eyes. You were with Daniel by then, based on the reference to 'Harry', so I guess the look, I don't know… baffles me. Didn't you trust him?"

"Not entirely, no. I'd been on the streets long enough at that point to know that seldom did anyone act with…" he paused, trying to find the right words, then continued with a wave of his hand "…kindness, without later extracting payment in some form." Laura sat up and turned to face him, tucking her legs around her, while he moved his leg from around her and crossed both legs at his ankles.

"How long did it take you to trust Daniel?" He fingered an ear as he mulled her question.

"A good bit. I took off several times, sometimes for a day or two, other times for much longer. But there's a certain… lure… to knowing there is place out there where you can have a good kip in a bed without fearing someone may, quite literally, put a knife in your back in order to take your shoes, or where there is food enough that you are not left wondering when your next meal will come." He shrugged his shoulders.

"And eventually you stayed."

He hummed his acknowledgment. "Until the time came to move on, yes. But, as you are well aware, we stayed in touch across the years. I always knew if I needed a place to, um, lay low or simply relax, I was welcome wherever he was."

"He gave you a home," Laura observed with a nod. Remington puzzled over her statement for a few moments, then shook his head in the negative.

"A retreat is a more accurate description, I think." Laura stretched out on her back, laying her head on his thigh, before claiming one of his hands for herself. She began lightly tracing the lines in his palm, the lengths of his fingers, while his free hand found her hair. Over the months past, this had become one of their most enjoyable ways to spend time with one another, to talk, feel close.

"It seems I've been saying this a lot lately, but I don't understand. You were with Daniel for years. How could you not come to see that as home?" His fingers flexed as a finger brushed across a particularly sensitive part of his palm. She smiled and traced the same path again getting the same response.

"Home is a rather complex concept if you give it some thought," he pointed out. "To some it's a place, a structure, that they return to each day, knowing it will be the same tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that. To others it might just be a city or a country and as long as they are within the borders, they feel they are home. Then for still others a person is their home." Laura's fingers stilled as she pondered what he said, then after a slight nod in understanding, she resumed her attentions on his hand.

"So, what is home to you then?"

"Well, that depends," he answered, his fingers playing with her hair. "If we're speaking strictly of Daniel, then certainly we never had a place either of us would call home. Where we hung our hat, so to speak, relied on any number of factors."

"Such as?"

"The location where Daniel's latest… um… escapades were to be carried out. How flush or empty his pockets were at the moment. If there was a need to lay low for a time." He allowed his mind to drift back to those early days after Daniel took him in. "In the near four years that we kept one another's company frequently, we lived in London, Dublin, Monte Carlo, Cannes and Venice. In London alone, we lived in half a dozen different places, from a modest one bedroom flat to an opulent townhouse. None that lasted for an extended period of time, of course. So certainly, I wouldn't have defined home in terms of either a building or country."

"I can understand that. So as for the last… person? The times I've seen the two of you together you seemed, forgive the expression, as thick as thieves. Given how close you were, wouldn't that meet your definition of person?"

"Can't say that it did," Remington chuckled. "During those years, we were at sixes and nines a good deal of the time."

"You were?" She asked, tilting her head back to look at him, clearly surprised. He hummed in the positive while nodding his head.

"It took me the better part of a year and a half to believe that Daniel wouldn't be extracting payment, at least a specific one, for taking me in. By then, we were firmly entrenched in the roles of protégé and mentor, and that was often accompanied by its own complexities."

"How so?"

"He set the bar rather high for me, believing that I'd a natural gift for the life which would in turn bring considerable, ummmm… profit. But that meant preparing me for it. Tutors for any variety of subjects, to make up for the number of years I'd not attended school. Speech tutors to refine how I spoke, so that I'd be able to fit easily within society of any status. Language tutors to give me a bit of an edge when required. Then on occasion, sent off to school for specific training that could be…"he swayed his head, while pursing is lips for a moment, "… let's just say, beneficial to future pursuits."

"Is that where the commercial art training came in to play?" He chuckled and raised a brow.

"That's still on your mind, eh?" She raised her brows in return to him.

"No more so than 'Binky' was on yours," she answered, drawing another laugh from him.

"Touche, Mrs. Steele," he acknowledged her point. A few months prior she'd finally told him the origin of the nickname. "I trained for what could be termed a semester at Saint Martin's School of Art in London. In that time, I developed a fair hand at, shall we say, designing documents that might be helpful in our line of work. I enjoyed my time there, for the most part, but still resented my life was not my own any longer to do with as I pleased. Daniel kept me on quite the exacting regimen."

"Then why did you stay?"

"For two reasons, I suppose. First, despite the fact that I resented the intrusion of all the lessons and training, I'd seen enough by then to know that very few who lived the life found themselves living on the streets. I'd spent enough time on the streets to know that I'd do whatever was needed, angry or not, to keep from returning to them."

"And second?" Remington shrugged lightly as Laura released his hand. Pushing herself up she stretched out on her side next to him with a short yawn. Pulling a pillow out from under his head, he slid down to lay on his back, opening an arm to her. Laura slid into his embrace.

"Over time I learned to trust Daniel, more so than anyone else in my life then. I'd no doubt that he wouldn't toss me to the wolves to save his own neck, at least. More importantly, my mere existence mattered to him. He may not have been inclined to find me and bring me back when I vanished, but I always knew that he kept tabs on where I was, what I was doing while leaving enough of a trail that I could find him, should I need to."

"He cared for you, very much," Laura noted quietly, as her hand found his ribs and began stroking along them. He hummed in agreement.

"As I did for him. Over time Daniel became one of the few people that I would acknowledge as a true friend, even if we never quite saw eye-to-eye on some matters." Laura turned her head to look up at him.

"Like me?" she asked.

"I think his letter to you speaks for itself on that matter. It wasn't you specifically that he took issue with." He struggled to find the right words. "At first, not unlike yourself, he didn't believe that I would, or maybe even could, leave the life behind, make a change. Hence, why he tried to reel me back in those first couple of years. It took him a while to realize that I'd found the only thing I'd ever truly wanted… other, of course, than my name."

"International fame?" She asked jokingly, looking up at him. His eyes darted towards her and then away, as he shook his head in the negative.

"While I won't deny that I, more often than not, find that… enjoyable… it wouldn't have been nearly enough to make me turn my back on the life I had before." Seeing he was serious, she sobered.

"Alright. So what was it you'd found?" Remington scooted out from under Laura, and turning on his side facing her, propped his head up in his hand. Laura followed suit, facing him then tucking her hands under her head instead.

"Do you recall the night you spent at my flat… after… Veckmer?" He watched as the memory of her loss flashed through Laura's eyes, before remembering the night specifically.

"Mmmm hmmm," she acknowledged. "It was the night you told me the story of Marcos and Xenos. I think that was the first time you'd voluntarily trusted me with a piece of your past."

"Yes, and one of few times over the years that you voluntarily turned to me for comfort," he pointed out.

"When you found me crying and I asked you to stay?" At the memory of that night, how in that moment it felt like his heart had left his chest and had fallen straight into her hands, he reached out to lay a hand on the side of her face, brushing his thumb against her cheek. He cleared his throat, before speaking.

"It occurred to me that night, Laura, as I held you crying in my arms, that I'd never done that before." Laura looked up at him, curiosity and skepticism warring on her face.

"Done what? Held a woman while she cried? Given the number of women you've been with, I can hardly believe that you've never held another woman as she…."

"Cared so much that it hurt," he told her, looking down at her, smiling when her eyes widened and her jaw dropped open. Placing a finger under her chin, he gently nudged it upwards until her mouth closed. "Yes, of course, I'd held other women as they'd cried. Plenty of there, there's and the like, more so because I found it discomfiting and wished to put an end to it. But that night, as I held you crying in my arms, all I could think of was there was not a thing I could do to stop your pain and I would have given the world if I could. You turned my world on its heels that night, never even realizing you had."

"How so?" Taking a hand out from under her cheek, she reached up and stroked the back of his hand where it now rested upon her upper arm.

"Are you sure you want to know the answer to that? It may well scare the bloody life out of you. It certainly did me."

"Well, I can't say no after _that_ , now can I?"

"Alright, but you can't say I didn't warn you." He took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. "I realized something as I was holding you that night. It seemed all my life I'd been moving from one place to the next, one con to the next. I liked my life like that: simple, adventurous, nothing tying me down. I'd had more than my fair share of, let's say dalliances shall we, across the years, none lasting more than a few days at best except the one you are well aware of. But as I held you crying in my arms that night I realized that not a single sexual act with those women, or even every sexual act with all the women combined, came close to the intimacy I felt with you simply whenever I held you in my arms. It didn't matter if we were watching a movie, sitting in front of the fire with a glass of champagne in our hands, or dancing in my living room. Holding you, comforting you that night was the most intimate act I had ever experienced in my life." He'd watched while Laura's breathing had quickened as he spoke, her eyes focusing on his face.

"That's a rather bold statement, Mr. Steele," she commented breathily. He hummed his agreement.

"And yet, that's not the realization that turned my world upside down. Are you sure you want to know?" Her eyes darted back and forth across his face several times as she recognized that whatever he said next would cause the relationship they had been nurturing to take an expedient turn from new lovers to something even more. She closed her eyes, allowing that thought to sink in, then opened them to look at him again.

"Yes," she answered on a whisper, as she slowly nodded her head. At the touch of his fingers on her hip, she rolled to her back. Remington stretched out over her and sliding his arms under her shoulders, braced his weight on his forearms even as his thumbs found her cheeks and began to stroke slowly.

"I realized at that moment that the only place I ever cared to be again was wherever it was that I was holding you in my arms. _You_ are my home…" He paused, to touch his lips briefly against hers when her hands, unknowingly, clenched his waist at his words. He watched as her mind tried to absorb the words he'd spoken, even as her heart pitty-patted in her chest. Dazed amber eyes met intense blue ones as he repeated the words interspersed with fluttering kisses. "You're the home I always wanted and never believed I'd find. It's to you I want to return day-after-day, night-after-night." When the words finally registered, she drew a quick, deep breath.

"Come here, Rem," she murmured, as her hands found his hair, and smoothing through it, pressed lightly against the back of his head. Lips met to wander, explore, taste, slowly, tenderly. Hands journeyed, sweeping away clothing to allow fingers to probe, seek, stroke. Breaths mingled as two bodies entwined in the ancient rhythm of life, slowly, reverently. Their hands found one another, fingers weaving together, bodies pressing close as they found the peak together and even before descending fully, they dared one another to climb to the summit again. Only when their bodies could no longer sustain their need to express physically what their hearts were just learning to say, did they fall into an exhausted slumber, limbs entangled to keep one another close.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16: Permanency

Rays from the late morning sun dappled their bedchamber as Laura's eyes fluttered opened, the sudden, pressing need to take a deep breath outweighing her desire to continue to lose herself in her dreams. It was here, the morning after; that moment she'd feared for years would arrive with her finding herself alone, her gadabout partner having disappeared sometime before the misty dawn. While those fears had lessened considerably across the last year, if she were honest with herself – and she normally was, almost to a fault – a small part of her had still worried that Daniel's predictions would become reality. With a soft snort of laughter, she dismissed her remaining doubts as so much foolishness when she discovered the source for her sudden inability to breath freely and deeply.

While Remington and Laura had fallen asleep with she draped more over his body than not, their arms and legs entangled, at some point while they slept, they'd shifted. Now it was she that lay on her back, a long leg wrapped over her hip and a heavy arm draped across her chest, the hand tucked under her ribs. She took a moment to enjoy the view of his lean, and quite nude, form, longing to run her hand over his bare, perfectly formed and delectable bum. But, in the end, practicality won out… oxygen over rampaging hormones. Gingerly extracting his hand from underneath her, she sat up and carefully hefted a heavy leg off of her, so that she was able to turn around and lay down facing him. It took him only moments, even in sleep, to realize contact had been lost and shifting to his own side, an arm found her waist to lay across while a knee nudged her legs apart so a leg could shift between them, as he bent his head down so that his face lay near the top of her head, keeping her scent close. He sighed a contented sigh, and drifted back into his dreams.

For a long time, she contented herself in listening to his breathing as she watched the rise and fall of his chest. Every once in a while he would mumble in his sleep, and she would glance up to see a shake of his head or a frown on his brow, which she would attempt to soothe out by brushing her hand lightly over his cheek or through his hair. In their years together, they had spent more nights than she could count sleeping under the same roof and in the last year tucked together more and more often as they slept. She had noticed during those times that he seldom slept peacefully. She wished she knew what haunted him, wondered if she ever would.

Over the years there would be times he would open up to her, share some of his mysterious past. Normally, they were stories associated with various heists of which he'd been a part. Sometimes it was just a sentence, "misspent youth". She had learned more about his past, the part of his past she _didn't_ want to know about, from the various women that would slink back into his life, and in the process turn the relationship they were trying to nurture on its head.

Then suddenly, over the last thirty-six hours, one revelation after another had come, swift and hard: the truth of his parentage; the visit to a childhood home, then the orphanage in which he'd spent time; Daniel's letters divulging long buried pieces of Remington's past, while also sprinkled with sage words of advice; Remington's silent admission of his love for her, and her more vocal declaration of loving him; and then, as the night gave way to the pre-dawn hours, his confession that for years now, he had seen Laura as his home.

And, of course, they had at long last turned that corner, crossed that line, leaving the term "just friends" in the rearview mirror along the way. In the quiet that had surrounded them near dawn, when their minds were still willing but their flesh was unable, she'd at last understood what he'd been trying to tell her for years, in that tongue-tied, silent way of his: making love would not be an ending, but a beginning of what they were meant to be to one another. In silence, as fingers trailed over her smooth form, seeking contact not arousal, where lips had softly caressed a cheek, a brow, the back of a hand, and the pulse of a wrist, she'd realized physical contact provided him a conduit for expressing the truth of his feelings for her even as his voice continued to fail him.

But, at the moment, it was Remington's statement that Laura was his home that was most pressing on her mind. Like the revelation that he'd been aware of Westfield all along had given her, as horrifying as it was, perspective into his frantic behavior when the INS had come calling along with the guilt laden realization of the harm she'd done in her flirtation with Roselli, this confession brought with it more pieces that contained the answers to the puzzle that was Remington. For years, she'd been plagued by the fear of him packing up and leaving her behind. It had never, not once, occurred to her that he too harbored deep seeded fears of being left by her, despite knowing he'd been shuffled among family members throughout early childhood

His words spoke to the depth of his attachment to her, to the degree to which he needed her presence in his life. It explained the nightmares he was plagued with whenever he felt her life had been particularly placed at risk. It explained his panic driven stupidity when the INS threatened deportation. It explained his anger at her when she would take what he saw as unnecessary risks. It most certainly explained his desperation just yesterday morning when he'd thought she'd changed her mind and left, the nightmare he'd had the night before, when he'd jarred awake shouting her name.

She recalled the words she'd told him in Vail, when he'd removed himself from her bodily, angry at her for concealing a serious injury she'd sustained earlier in the day.

" _ **When you shut me out, turn away, you take more than Wilson ever did. You take everything: partner, friend, almost lover, those touches."**_

 _I never realized. When I turn away from him, shut him out, I may take away even more from him than he does from me. He loses his partner, friend, almost lover…and home._ She shook her head, stunned at the realization.

Tilting her head back, she watched his beloved face, noted the twitching of a corner of his mouth, before his lips wordlessly moved, a slight frown furrowing his brow. At the touch of her fingers against his lips, they pursed against her fingertips before tipping upwards in a smile of contentment. Inhaling deeply, he continued to slumber on. Leaning up, she brushed a kiss across his cheek before carefully extracting herself from his embrace then sliding out of the bed. _Shower and coffee, in that order_ , she nodded to herself.

"Oh God," she murmured softly as she pulled on her robe, her sore muscles and tender tissues protesting loudly at the movement. _The price you pay for making love throughout an afternoon and night after years of abstinence,_ she thought to herself, grimacing as she took the first few tentative steps towards that bathroom. She smiled as he murmured his discontent when a seeking hand did not find her near. _And worth every single ache and pain._

Remington pushed himself up on an arm, groaning as muscles screamed, then searched the bed with bleary eyes. Finding it empty, he sat up to discover he was being watched by a pair of amused amber eyes.

"Go back to sleep, Rem. I'll be back after I grab myself a cup of coffee," she told him.

"Tea?" his gravelly voice grated out hopefully.

"I think that can be arranged," she agreed, then laughed aloud as he collapsed back on the bed on his stomach, drifting immediately off to sleep. For a moment she was tempted to run a hand across that enticing bum now that it was so readily accessible, but acknowledging that such a move would likely land her right back in the bed – something her flesh was by no means ready for at the moment – convinced her to head straight to a soothing spray of water awaiting her in the shower.

* * *

Laura leaned against a counter in the kitchen, a cup of coffee clutched in one hand, the notarized statement of one Leighton Sinclair in the other. While Remington's tea steeped on the stove behind her, she'd been racking her brain, trying to figure out Daniel's intent when he'd left her the letters. Her brows lifted high on her forehead, her lips spreading in a wide smile, believing she'd figured out the document that had puzzled them both the night before. The only question that remained was: Could it actually be done?

She turned her head at a sound to her left and saw Mickeline entering the kitchen.

"Good mornin' to ye, yer Ladyship," he greeted her. Laura smiled widely, and returned the greeting warmly. His arrival could not have been timed more perfectly. If one had a question about Irish history, who better to provide the answers than a lifelong citizen.

"Mickeline, I was wondering if I might ask you a couple of questions?"

"How can I be of assistance, yer Ladyship?" Laura thought for a moment, carefully selecting her words.

"How common were home births here in Ireland around thirty or so years ago?" He gave his shoulders a short shrug, while moving to the stove to lower the flame under the tea kettle.

"Not as common as the years afore, during the war, the ladies preferin' to be tended to in the 'ospitals, but still 'appened often enough, most 'specially when a family was not well off or in the smaller counties where the 'ospitals were not much to speak of. Why be ye askin', if ye don't mind me curiosity?"

"Research for a case Mr. Steele and I are working on," she lied smoothly. "How was a birth certificate issued if the child wasn't born in the hospital?"

"Weel, I'm no expert on the matter, for certain, but iffin' I remember correctly things I've 'eard over the years, it was not much to get it done. Simply a matter of completin' a notification of birth at the Registrar of Birth, Marriages and Deaths."

"What would one need to do that?"

"Again, yer Ladyship, relyin' on memory, iffin' it serves me well, not much more than a statement of birth." Laura frowned slightly.

"A statement of birth? What is that?"

"Nothing more than notification that a babe was born. Could be done by the mum or da, or even, with permission, by a statement from someone who just 'appened to be in attendance."

"And where does one find the Registrar of Birth, Marriages and Death?" Laura queried.

"There's one in all the county towns." Laura puzzled over this a moment, then decided she had little choice but to give up more information than she was originally willing to do. Picking up the statement from Daniel, she skimmed it.

"Would you happen to know the county town for County Leitrim?" Mickeline scrunched up his face as he searched his memory, nodding his head and smiling when he retrieved the information from the recesses of his mind.

"That would be Carrick-on-Shannon, yer Ladyship," he answered, as he fixed Remington's tea for her.

Laura chewed on her lower lip, wondering how Remington would take it if things didn't work out like she hoped. _Can he really take another disappointment on the heels of so many blows lately?_ She sighed. _Is there really any other choice? Who knows if, let alone when, we might make it back to Ireland again? We're too close._

"How far is Carrick-on-Shannon from here, Mickeline?" she asked.

"Not more than two 'ours northeast of 'ere." Laura nodded, accepting Remington's cup of tea from Mickeline as well as her freshly topped off cup of coffee. Thanking Mickeline for the information he'd provided, she turned to leave the room, then paused in the doorway as she recalled the words Remington had said to her the other day.

"Mickeline, one more thing. Do you speak Gaelic?"

"Growin' up as I did in the Gaeltacht in Galway, yes I do yer Ladyship." She searched her memory wanting to get the words exactly right.

"What does 'bheadh sé áthas orm, mo ghrá' mean?" Mickeline grinned at her words.

"Someone be sweet talkin' ye, I see," he answered with a knowing nod, continuing on only when Laura gave him a questioning look. "It means, 'It would be me pleasure, me love.'"

Laura's mouth formed an "o" as she inhaled on a quick gasp of pleasure, before her lips spread in a wide smile. "Seems someone has," she agreed, then turned and left the room.

 _For a man that doesn't know how to say the words, he certainly knows how to say them in other ways._ She smiled contentedly as she headed back to their bedroom.

* * *

Setting her coffee and his tea down on the bedside table, Laura climbed up on the bed and at long last did what she'd been wanting to do since she'd awakened to Remington sprawled across her. Leaning over, she trailed a hand over the bare skin of a cheek of his bottom, continuing upwards over the length of his back, ending her journeys with a soft ruffle of his hair. She watched as a blissful little smile crossed his lips. As he rolled to his back, an arm snaked around her waist and he took her with him so that she lay partially across him. He hummed a pleased little hum when her fingers raked lightly through his chest hair. She touched her lips against his lightly, then leaned her head back and watched him.

"It's the morning, Mr. Steele." She spoke the words quietly, then watched as a grin lifted his mouth and his eyes blinked open. A hand stole into her hair, fingers stroking the back of her neck.

"Indeed it is, Mrs. Steele, and I'm still here." She smiled at his response, knowing that he'd caught her double meaning and leaned down to press her lips against his again, before rising up on an elbow.

"Going anywhere?" she teased lightly, knowing full-well that he was not.

"Only with you," he answered, shifting under her to get more comfortable, his arm tightening around her waist, drawing her tighter against him. "How about a proper good morning, Mrs. Steele?" he asked with a suggestive lift of his brow, drawing a light laugh from her.

"I think that can be arranged," she smiled, swiping that unruly lock of hair back off of his forehead, her fingers trailing over the side of his face as she leaned down into him.

She brushed her lips back and forth against his lightly before settling. With a small groan in the back of his throat, his hand cupped the back of her head, and he rolled them over, deepening the kiss as he settled himself over her. A hand skimmed over her hip, across her waist to find the sash of her robe, untying it with a slight tug of his hand. Swift fingers brushed aside cloth as a hand sought a breast. He moaned discontentedly, causing her to laugh throatily, when his fingers found silk and lace covering the skin he craved contact with. Ending the kiss, he leaned up and looked down at her with a raised brow. As delectable as he found the little teddies Laura was prone to wearing underneath her clothes, it was proving an inconvenient barrier at the moment. He nudged the robe at her shoulders, hinting that she should shrug it off. His brow only raised higher when her teeth nibbled at her lower lip and she shook her head no.

"Sorry, big guy…" she began, then laughed at the pleased waggle of his brows.

"A lovely compliment on the morning after," he smiled down at her, before bowing his head, his lips finding the tender skin of her neck, lathing it with attention.

"…but my body is firmly off limits this morning," she finished, giggling when his lips stilled against her neck. Lifting his head to look at her, a puzzled frown danced across his face.

"Why ever is that?" he asked, baffled by her decree after an afternoon and night of nearly non-stop love making.

"While the mind is willing, the flesh certainly is not. And, if your body feels anything like mine after last night, you'll understand…" she answered, as her hand moved down between their bodies and, grasping his arousal lightly, ran her hand down the length of him. She laughed when his entire body flinched, his face grimacing at the contact, his hand rapidly found hers and pulled it away from him.

"Perhaps… other activities… would be better called for this morning," he agreed through gritted teeth, his body still stinging from her touch.

"Somehow I thought you might agree," she continued to laugh. He frowned playfully, as he pushed himself off of her, and adjusting the pillows behind him, reclined against the headboard, pulling the sheet up over his waist lest she get any ideas about trying _that_ again. Laura watched, amused, as she sat up on the bed to face him. Handing him his tea, she clutched her coffee cup in hands, watching him pensively over the rim of her cup as she took a sip. His head tilted slightly to the side as he considered her as well.

"Something on your mind, love?" She grinned at the appellation, running her fingers over his sheet covered calf before her hand returned to clutch her coffee mug.

"I'd like you to go somewhere with me, no questions asked," she told him taking another sip of her coffee while she watched as a curious brow rose, as she'd anticipated it would.

"Given you did just that when I asked yesterday, I suppose I have little choice but to agree," he pointed out.

"I thought you'd see it my way," she grinned. Tipping back his cup, Remington drained the lukewarm tea, then pushed himself from the bed with a quiet grunt. Laura cracked a smug little smile, knowing that she was in part responsible for his own various aches and pains this morning. Fully prepared to ask her to join him in the shower, he turned, and seeing the self-satisfaction on her face, chuckled lightly. Forgoing the invitation, he made his way into the bathroom alone. Waiting until she heard the water begin to run, Laura stood, gathering up Remington's cup to return to the kitchen to retrieve refills for them both.

Stepping into the shower, Remington nearly groaned out loud as the hot spray of water sluiced over tight, aching muscles. He could not recall a time when his body had felt so well used. Oh, on numerous occasions across the years he'd engaged in dalliances that had lasted well into the night, most notably when running on the adrenaline driven high that accompanied, then followed, a well-orchestrated heist. Yet never had those times started in the early evening hours and lasted until nearly dawn with only a couple fast snatches of sleep and a pause to fuel the bodies interspersed throughout.

Remington squeezed a dollop of shampoo into his hand and lathered up his hair, while his mind wandered. He'd ached for years to know the feeling of Laura wrapped around him, to know the sounds of her pleasure, to feel her tremoring body pressed against his as her muscles clenched around him when she found her release. There were times when she'd left him so hard from her enticing kisses and feathery touches, that he believed he would go mad from unsated desire. Then there was lonely night after lonely night in which he had only his dreams and fantasies to sustain him, as he'd wondered if Laura would ever allow him to know her as he almost desperately need to.

Not a single one of those fantasies had prepared him for the reality of making love with her. Never had he imagined how much they would talk, tease, taunt, and tantalize as their hands and mouths sought, their bodies merged. Never had he imagined that she'd be able to bring his body back to life, again and again, with the brush of a single finger up his length, her fingers fluttering over his bare bottom, or with a simple stroke of his hair as her lyrical voice whispered a single syllable, "Rem," while the beautiful amber eyes he adored shone with emotion. Certainly, there had been no way to anticipate those last few hours during which they'd simply lost themselves in each other, in sensation and emotion, every movement, every touch, every kiss exquisitely slow, tender and infused with love.

Somewhere near dawn, he'd lost track of the number of times they'd made love, and when their bodies had finally given out, his entire being still ached for more. His body had never been fully sated. He'd been thrown off kilter when he realized that he likely never would be, not when it came to Laura. Each time they had made love had only left him desperate to have her one more time. He moaned aloud now, as just the thought of her touch stirred his body to life. But, as Laura had said earlier, where his heart was desperate to go, neither of their bodies were prepared to take them there at the moment. With a muttered oath, his hand reached out and turned the faucet until cold water pummeled his body. Only when his body calmed to a manageable level, did he turn off the water, and step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his hips.

That Laura chose that moment to walk into the bathroom, and stilled to rake her eyes hungrily over his bare chest and suddenly tightening abdomen, had him nearly turning right back around to plunge again under the icy cold spray of the shower. It was when her lips parted and eyes of molten amber met his, that he knew the same as she that flesh willing or not, their hearts would not be denied.

Laura stepped to Remington and her hands running up his sides from hips to ribs, could only manage one thought, which she said aloud as she pressed herself up on her balls of her feet to touch her lips to his.

"I think we're in trouble, Rem." His hand found her hair, swept it over her shoulder, before long, tapered fingers found the back of her neck.

"I think you may be right, love," he answered, feeling every nuance of her body's reaction when she quaked at his words. "Come here," he whispered, drawing her lips to his. When her arms wrapped around his neck and lips melded, he bent down and swept an arm up under the back of her knees. Pressing her body close to his, he carried her from the bathroom to their bedroom, lips only parting when he let her down on the bed in the moments before he folded himself over her. They lost themselves again in each other, discovering together the meaning of sweet torture as they made love.

* * *

"Lunch before or after?" Laura asked as she concentrated on the road before them. She was still getting used to driving on the left hand side of the road while sitting in the driver's seat on the right side of the vehicle. The whole experience simply felt unnatural and made her wonder how long it had taken the man sitting next to her to adjust when he'd first arrived in the States.

"I've still not idea what 'after' is," Remington reminded her.

"I've told you a half dozen times," she answered placatingly while reaching over to stroke her fingers across the back of his hand, "it's nothing bad."

"I don't particularly care for surprises, Laura," he groused.

"Ha! This coming from the man that has blindsided me how many times now with his little ruses?" she asked, laughing. "What's the matter? Now that the shoe's on your foot, is it a bit too tight?"

"Excruciatingly so," he confirmed, "especially given the way everything has had a habit of turning south of late, well…"

"Given everything that's happened in the last twenty-four hours, maybe things are finally turning around, huh?" she asked, turning her head quickly to toss him a smile before returning her eyes to the road. Remington picked up her hand and turning it over pressed his lips to the palm.

"Maybe they are at that," he acknowledged.

"So lunch before or after?" she repeated the question.

"After."

"Alright," Laura greed with a nod of her head as she carefully navigated a right hand turn off the road onto a smaller, two-lane one – a tricky situation when one was driving on the left hand side of the road.

They fell silent for the next ten miles or so, when his disgruntled sigh broke the air.

"What now?" she asked, her patience with him rapidly wearing thin which each complaint.

"In the hundreds of fantasies I've had about the day after we finally consummated this relationship, not a single one of them involved spending hours in a car," he groused. Laura looked over at him and seeing he was headed towards a full on sulk giggled merrily, earning her a glower from her petulant partner.

"I have to admit I'm a bit surprised to hear that, as any number of my fantasies have involved just that," she admitted to him. She suppressed another laugh as she watched him straighten up in his seat, open curiosity replacing the frown on his face.

"Have you now? Care to share, love?" he asked with a brush of his lips across her knuckles. Laura felt a shiver travel her spine at the endearment. _Will I ever get used to it,_ she wondered silently.

She hummed her agreement, as she took the final turn towards their destination. "It involves finally joining a certain club."

His brows quirked upwards, fairly certain he knew precisely to which club she referred, but wanted to hear her say the words. "Oh, which club might that be?" he asked. Still, she laughed, knowing well his game.

"A drive up the coast. A secluded spot, waves crashing on the rocks below, the open night sky above us. A little wine and _all_ of you. In the Auburn, on it." Placing the car in park, she turned to see bright blue eyes fastened on her, as his mind took him to where her fantasies led. He swallowed hard.

"I don't believe I've ever looked forward to getting back to LA more." Laura laughed as she opened her car door and got out of the car, he following on the other side of the car.

"A newfound appreciation for taking a long drive in a car on the morning after, Mr. Steele?" she asked, watching as he rounded the car.

"Well the fantasy of a particular car, at least." He looked at the town surrounding them, then rounded the car to stand next to her. "So, where are we, Miss Holt, and what are we doing here?"

"Shannon-on-Carrick and you'll see soon enough. Come on," she answered, taking his hand and leading him to the door of the building in front of them.

"The Registrar of Births, Marriages and Death?" he questioned. "Uh, Laura I believe the mortuary takes care of obtaining Daniel's death certificate and even if they didn't, we could have obtained it more closely to Ashford Castle." She led them through a second door then approached a woman at the counter across the room, glancing at the name plaque on the counter in front of the woman – Bridget O'Shaughnessy.

"That's not why we're here," she answered, then turned her attention to the woman in front of her. "Good Morning, Ms. O'Shaughnessy. I was wondering if we might speak with the Registrar, please?"

"The registrar is a very busy man," the austere, older woman told them. "I am certain I can assist ye with whatever it is ye be needin'." Laura glanced at Remington, who stood looking at her questioningly, then back at the woman before her, and with a heavy sigh, opened her purse and extracted the papers she'd stashed there before she and Remington had departed the castle.

"We were wondering if you might have a birth certificate on file for my husband?" Laura explained. "He was born August 27th, 1952 in Ballinamore." Handing O'Shaughnessy the letter from the midwife, she waited as the woman examined it thoroughly. O'Shaughnessy tapped several keys on her computer terminal and nodded, then re-reading the letter, commenced tapping again, concluding her actions with a frown.

"If ye wouldn't mind waitin' a minute, I'll be getting' the Registrar to come out and speak with ye." Laura opened her mouth to acknowledge O'Shaughnessy, but the woman abruptly turned and walked away, leaving the puzzled couple in her wake.

"Laura, what are you doing? We've no idea who adopted me, what my name would've been, and even if we did, we'd have no way of proving that is who I am." Turning to face him, she took both of his hands in hers.

"It's a chance, isn't it? The papers Daniel left you are the closest we've come yet to finding everything you've ever wanted." He shook his head, lifting a hand to place it against her neck.

"You, Laura. You're what I've always wanted. I needed a name _for you_ ," he reminded her.

"Then consider this everything I've ever wanted _for_ _you_. No more 'man without a name,' no more questioning whether you have a right to an identity of your own, no more wondering if who you see yourself as can be taken away on a whim or out of anger. We have to _at least try_ ," she implored. He studied her face, reading every nuance of feeling he saw there, then nodded. Laura turned around abruptly when she heard someone approaching behind her. Keeping a hand clasped in Remington's, she held her breath, waiting for the either O'Shaughnessy or the man accompanying her to speak.

"Good day to ye. Sean Flannery, Registrar for County Lietrim, at yer service," the tall, austere, middle-aged man introduced himself to them, while holding out a hand for each of them to shake. "If the both of ye wouldn't mind accompanyin' me to the office, I think there is somethin' we be needin' to discuss." Laura glanced at Remington while clasping his hand a little more tightly. He gave her hand a squeeze while shaking his head with a raised brow, indicating he was as puzzled as she. None the less, they followed Flannery's wake, taking a seat where he indicated when they entered his office.

"Now, then," Flannery began. "Ms. O'Shaughnessy 'as filled me in on what ye be after, but, if ye don't mind answering a few questions for me first?" Remington's hand shifted in Laura's, his fingers finding hers and lacing through them. Feeling his tension, she took the lead.

"What would you like to know, Mr. Flannery?" Laura asked.

"Do ye 'ave any additional documentation attestin' to the validity of the midwife's statement?" he queried. Laura extracted the notarized statement of Leighton Sinclair from her pocketbook and handed it to him.

"A notarized statement from my husband's father," she explained. Flannery nodded while examining the statement.

"According to this," Flannery directed his gaze over top of his glasses at Remington, "you were placed for adoption." Remington gave a short, curt nod. "By what name were you known then?" Remington closed his eyes and turned his head away. A soft squeeze of his hand by Laura, found him slouching slightly down in his chair and crossing a leg over a knee, a confident, nearly arrogant pose taking the place of his previously uncomfortable one.

"That would be a question I've often wondered myself," he replied, the sharp clip of his British accent firmly in place, clearly flustering Flannery by both his response and mannerism. Taking off his glasses, Flannery leveled his gaze on Remington.

"Would ye care to explain that statement?" Remington was prepared to retort 'not particularly' when he again felt Laura's hand squeeze his. Glancing at her, to took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"I've no idea. By the time I was ten, I'd been moved throughout so many homes, given so many names, I'd no idea which was my real name any longer, if any were."

"And when ye were ten?" Flannery inquired.

"I'd had enough and lit out on my own." Flannery nodded, clearly shocked by the statement but accepted it without further question.

"Raised in Britain then, were ye?" Remington shook his head in the negative.

"In and around Galway, Dublin. I didn't land in London until year fourteen." All three heads turned towards the office door when it opened and O'Shaughnessy returned with a file in her hands. Presenting it to Flannery she departed, as he put back on his glasses and skimmed the contents of the thin file.

"Another of Ireland's lost sons," Flannery muttered under his breath in disgust, removing his glasses again and chewing on the ear piece. Laura and Remington glanced at one another questioningly.

"Would _you_ care to explain _that_ statement?" Laura asked, echoing Flannery's question to Remington only a couple of minutes before. Flannery exhaled heavily.

"It's not what's in this file that 'as me disturbed…" Laura shook her head and held up her hand.

"Wait… please, what _is_ in the file?" she asked.

"A statement of birth from the midwife," he supplied, handing the document to Remington, "… a copy of yer mother's death certificate…" he handed this over as well as a third document, "…and yer original certificate of birth."

Remington had released Laura's hand when Flannery handed him the first document. He looked at each in stunned silence, passing them one at a time to Laura, who looked at them, excitement building in her after each piece of paper reviewed. When Remington reclaimed her hand, she could feel the slight tremor in his.

"I don't understand. It would seem everything here backs up the paperwork we've provided you. So what is it, exactly, that has you disturbed?" The detective in Laura had taken over, as she sought answers.

"What's not in the file, that I would expect to be, if all had been done properly: A copy of your husband's decree of adoption and a request for an amended birth certificate, at minimum." Standing, Flannery crossed in front of his desk, then leaned back across it. "Frankly, when first ye spoke, Mrs. …"

"Steele," Laura supplied without thought, her subconscious immediately taking note of how easily the name had passed her lips. Apparently, Remington had noted it as well, if the thumb stroking across the back of her hand was any indication, which it was.

"Mrs. Steele," Flannery acknowledged with a nod. "When first ye spoke, I assumed yer 'usband to be one of the thousands of Irish babes sent to America in questionable adoptions. It's only been in recent years, when the lads and lasses began to appear searchin' for their roots, that the scandal was exposed: the Church and government conspirin' to profit off of the illegitimate children of single women. These children are referred to as the 'Lost Children of Ireland'." Remington and Laura looked at each other. With a barely discernible nod he told her to continue to take the lead.

"What are you not telling us? As you can tell by his accent, my husband was clearly not raised in America."

"To the shame of us all, not all the children ended up in 'omes – lovin' homes – overseas. Some of the babes were handed over to Irish families for a mere donation, to do with as they pleased. In most of the cases, the children were raised in loving homes. Others, as I suspect it is in your 'usband's case given what little 'e's said so far, did not fare as well, often being used as little more than a way to collect benefits from the government and later sent out to work to 'earn their keep'. It is the shame of today's Ireland what was done to these children." Laura felt her temper peak at Flannery's words.

"As well it should be," she bit out, anger infusing each word. "Do you have any idea what he had to live through because of that greed – _government and Church sponsored greed_?" she spat out the question, her voice rising as she spoke. " _For God's sake_ , he was living on the streets at ten. _Ten!_ And before that…" She ended her intended rant when her voice broke. Remington squeezed her hand tightly while leveling his eyes on Flannery.

"May we have a moment?" Remington requested. Pushing himself off the desk where he still leaned, Flannery nodded and departed the room. Remington stood and gave Laura's hand a little tug. When she stood, he wrapped her in an arm, his other hand pressing her head snug against his chest.

"No use flailing at windmills, love," he told her quietly. She took a deep, staccato breath then let it out slowly, as her arms wrapped around his back.

"How are you not furious?" she demanded, pushing herself out of his arms to pace the room. "You were likely sold. Sold!..."

"Still just windmills, Laura," he interrupted quietly, shoving his hands in his pants' pockets and watching her work through her fury.

"If one person, just one," she continued on, "had done right by you, you may have had the childhood you deserved: a home, a family. Instead…"

"And you and I would likely have never met," he calmly interrupted her. She stilled, turned to look at him. He slowly approached her. "Look, Laura… let's try to keep this in perspective, eh? Knowing the why, doesn't change the what happened. The fact is, I would live it all over again, gladly, if I knew at the end of the day it meant having you in my life, what we've had together and will have together." He stepped into her, laying a hand on either side of her neck, his thumbs stroking her jaw. "Do you not know that by now?" He leaned down and kissed her gently, slowly, releasing her neck and sliding his arms around her to press her against him when her lips responded under his. When the kiss ended, he leaned back and watched a rueful smile lift the corner of her mouth.

"I hate it when you do that," she complained, as her fingers brushed back a piece of hair off his forehead.

"You hate so much that I do, it's hard to keep track," he teased her, swaying her slightly in his arms. "What have I done to offend you this time?"

"Used logic against me. That's _supposed_ to be what _I_ do with _you,"_ she told him lightly, playfully poking his chest with a finger to emphasize her words.

"The hallmark of a great partnership, Miss Holt: when one falls down the other picks them up," he grinned at her. With a glance of her lips against his neck, she stepped away from him again.

"Okay, Mr. Steele, let's get what we came after," she told him, with a determined clap of her hands. He nodded, walking over to the door to let Flannery back in. Before opening it, turned to give her one last look.

"Okay?" he asked. Laura gave him a quick, sharp nod of the head in response. Opening the door, he invited Flannery back in. Silence permeated the room as everyone took their original seats. Remington was the first to break it.

"History aside, we've only one thing on our minds, Mr. Flannery, and that is determining how to have a proper birth certificate issued for me. What do we need to do in order to make that happen?" Remington asked.

"First, if ye'll let me apologize to Mrs. Steele," Flannery answered, then turned to face Laura. "I never meant to upset ye." Laura flicked a hand in his direction, the picture of cool elegance once again.

"I'm fine. Now, as my husband was asking?" she asked, redirecting the focus back to the matter at hand.

"While normally there is a fairly lengthy process that must be adhered to, Registrars, such as meself, who 'ave found themselves offended, if ye will, by the wrongs done to Ireland's children, 'ave taken a firm stance that justice delayed is justice denied. I'm prepared to issue Mr. Steele a birth certificate 'ere and now, since the documentation ye've provided supports what's in the official file. I'll just be needin' yer full name, as ye wish it to appear on the certificate, Mr. Steele."

Remington stared at the man, clearly dumbfounded. This time it was Laura who turned to Flannery.

"If you don't mind, I think my husband needs a minute," she requested. As before, Flannery immediately complied leaving the couple alone. As soon as the door closed, Laura stood, to stand in front of Remington, leaning against the desk. "Are you alright?" she asked, amusement dancing through her voice. Blue eyes blinked at her.

"It can't be this easy. After all the years of trying to find a name, can it really come to an end, just like that?" he asked on a stunned voice.

"Seems so," she said brightly, trying to lighten a mood that could tilt in another direction very quickly given his insecurities around the name by which he saw himself. "So what's it to be?" He considered her at length, and she watched as his mood took a decidedly downward turn.

"Are you sure, Laura?" he asked not meeting her eyes. She blew out a puff of air, before answering.

"I could have sworn we settled this last night. Didn't we?" This time blue eyes did find amber ones and held.

"Are you sure, Laura?" he repeated the question, firmly this time. Pushing herself up from where she leaned against the desk, Laura took two steps forward to stand in front of him. She smoothed her hand through the hair at the side of his head, before her fingers trailed under his jaw.

"It's been your name far longer than it was ever mine. Yes, I'm sure." His eyes stayed with hers as he nodded. "The only thing that has to be decided," she continued, "is what your middle name will be, if you even want one."

"I've never even given it thought, never thought I'd need to." He stumbled on the words, while Laura nodded in understanding.

"Harry?" she queried? "The name Daniel called you by?" Remington laughed in response.

"Good Lord, no. Remington 'Harry' Steele. Destroys the entire image associated with the name that we've tried very hard to cultivate over the years."

"A variation of it then? Harold. Hartford. Harrison. Harris. Harington." Remington shook his head adamantly.

"The name is part of another time, another life, Laura. Besides, if you knew the origin of it, you wouldn't think me as attached to it as you seem to believe I am." She nodded her understanding.

"Alright, do you have anything in mind?" she asked with a tilt of her head. He stood and walked towards the office window, looking out at the street in front of the building. He stood silently for a couple of minutes, as Laura leaned back against the desk and watched on. Finally, he turned, shoving his hands in his pants' pockets.

"How would you feel about Chalmers?" He looked at her uncertainly. "It works well with the English origins of Remington Steele, and would be a way for me to honor Daniel, both as a father and for all that he did for me."

"It's your name," she pointed out to him, not wanting him to feel he needed her approval.

"Yes, and you're my wife who happens to share the name by virtue of that fact alone," he volleyed back. She had to bite her lip to keep from reminding him that they were not really married, so the choice of a name was his alone. Recognizing it for the deflection it was before she spoke, she instead took a deep breath and let it out.

"Remington Chalmers Steele," she said aloud, considering it honestly. Walking across the room towards him, she stopped in front of him, then reached up to lay her hands against his cheeks. "I think it's lovely, perfect." The smile that lit his face warmed her.

"It is settled then?" he asked. Laura nodded.

"I think it is. Let's get Flannery back in here." With a nod, Remington went to the door and opened it, inviting Flannery back into his office.

Thirty minutes later, Remington Chalmers Steele exited the Registrar of Births, Marriages and Deaths, with a birth certificate officially issued by Ireland in his name which reflected not only the (known) names of his parents, but his actual date of birth. For the first time in nearly thirty-five years, the man with no name had not only proof of his existence, but the security of knowing he had a name that could never be taken away. He leaned his back against the driver's side door in combined stupefaction and wonderment, while Laura watched him with a soft smile playing over her lips. He held out an arm to her.

"Come here, Laura," he implored quietly. With a smile she stepped into his arms, wrapping her own around his back as he dipped down his head to lay his forehead against hers. "How can I ever thank you for this?" he murmured.

"I didn't do anything. This was Daniel's last gift to you. He made this possible, not me." Tipping her head back, he looked down at her with a smile.

"You're a remarkable woman, Miss Holt," he told her, before his lips brushed against hers.

"You're not so bad yourself, Mr. Steele," she grinned, ruffling his hair. He frowned at her playfully.

"You're supposed to tell me what a remarkable man I am. Really, Laura, still saving me from myself?" he teased.

"Always," she agreed with a nod, followed by a swift kiss. "Now, if you'd like to move up from 'not so bad' to 'pretty okay', feed me. I'm hungry." He chuckled as he bussed her neck before releasing her.

"Of course you are," he told her as he opened the door and handed her into the driver's side. He smiled to himself as he walked around the car. There were two things he knew would be true through time about Laura Holt: First, she would always be hungry. And second? She would never take credit for how much she'd changed his life.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17: Where You Go

By the time Laura and Remington returned to Ashford Castle in the early evening hours, every nerve in Laura's body, from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes, was humming with life. Those small touches that Remington was inclined towards whenever he was near, had been omnipresent from the time they'd left the Registrar of Births, Marriages and Deaths until they'd returned home nearly four hours later. She'd recognized during the drive to The Oarsmen, where they'd indulged in an early dinner, and even at dinner itself that the touches were unconscious and born of a yearning to express the emotions invoked by day's events. She could not pinpoint exactly when it was that he'd recognized that those glancing touches and small caresses had set her body aflame, but she suspected it was sometime shortly prior to their leaving the restaurant for as he'd opened the door to assist her into the car, a hand had lifted the hair from the back of her neck so that lips could skim across the bared skin. She'd shivered in response, goosebumps climbing her skin, and she couldn't be sure, but still was fairly certain, that she had murmured a soft "Oh God," before she heard a low chuckle by her ear. There began an all-out assault on her senses on the two-hour drive home.

On Remington's part, he had been left stunned senseless by the afternoon's events. When they'd arrived at the office of the Registrar of Births, Marriages and Deaths, he'd denied the need to have a name to call his own out of habit. While lack of this very basic, essential element to which everyone but he was entitled had been a specter dogging him for most of his life, nearly a decade prior he had vowed not to let it define him and to give it little thought at all, if ever. He'd not only learned to accept that he would never know who his father was, would never know his true name, and would never have a piece of a paper that attested to his existence, he'd decided that in the grand scheme of things that it did not matter. After all, something as mundane as a birth certificate was unneeded in his bon vivant life, a life in which he discarded identities and created new ones as often as a snake would shed its skin. A solitary identity would have been an impediment to the life he once lived, not an asset. For years he'd given his nameless existence little thought, but that, of course, all changed once Laura entered his life.

Laura, with her insatiable curiosity and her constant demands of honesty. Laura with her deep seeded fears of abandonment. She'd made it clear that the two of them would never be able to move forward unless she trusted him implicitly. Then, during the Rena Casella's case, it had become clear to him that her trust in him hinged indelibly on the one thing that he would never be able to give her: his real name. In a remarkable turnabout for him, the man who avoided the truth at all costs, he'd suggested that they engage in sixty-seconds of absolute honesty in order to relieve the tension that had mounted between them as they'd both engaged in games meant to make the other jealous. In the final moments of the question and answering session, she had dropped the bomb, "What's your real name," and he'd been, of course, unable to answer.

He'd lulled himself into the false belief that she'd let the matter go over time. They'd become friends, then partners. She'd recognized the changes he'd made in his life, in himself, which she'd made clear to him during the Dannon case.

 _ **"Telling the truth is something I've always worked hard to avoid," he'd told her, in reference to him informing Mildred of who the true head of the Agency was.**_

 _ **"Past tense?" Laura asked.**_

 _ **"Increasingly so, I'm afraid," he'd admitted.**_

 _ **"You know, you're rapidly becoming the man I envisioned when I created Remington Steele. Honest, courageous, caring, good humored-"**_

She'd not realized then, perhaps still didn't know today, what the words she'd spoken had meant to him. He'd realized in that moment that everything he'd left behind to remain in LA with her had been well worth the cost. Long before he'd realized that she was the true treasure he'd been seeking most of his life, more valuable than Royal Lavulite, more enticing that the Bordeaux Tryptic. But only a couple of months after that evening, when they'd been hired to protect the transfer of the Royal Lavulite, she'd drawn a line in the sand, making it clear that her trust in him had hinged on the one thing he'd never be able to give her.

 _ **"Trust. It's all I've ever wanted, Laura," he'd told her sincerely, then trying to lighten the moment followed with, "Well, trust - and a new suit every now and again."**_

 _ **"Then tell me, as your precious Royal Lavulite comes back into our lives, - Who are you really?"**_

 _ **"Does that really matter?"**_

 _ **"It matters only that you won't tell me," she'd told him, and then, on that note, had left his apartment.**_

If he were honest with himself now, and he was, as honesty had become a habit difficult to shake once it had crept up on him, he may never have found a way to tell her the truth about his inability to give her a name, had it not been for his bout of amnesia. During that time, everything about the life he'd lived was as much a mystery to himself as it was to her, and that had somehow torn down the walls he'd built around himself. Walls meant to contain the insecurities, the disappointments and disillusionments brought on by never knowing his parents, never even knowing his true identity.

 _ **"To SJ from KL," Laura said, examining the pocket watch that had been sent to him in LA. "The inscription on the watch. One of these must be your father."**_

 _ **"Perhaps, perhaps."**_

 _ **"Perhaps? You can't have forgotten your father."**_

 _ **"I don't think so. It might be the amnesia, of course, but, uh, I have a- uh- I have a . . ."**_

 _ **"Feeling?"**_

 _ **"That's right. That's right. I have a feeling that I never knew who my real father was, actually. In fact, I don't think I ever saw my birth certificate."**_

He'd hoped that the issue of a name had finally died a graceful death. After all, he couldn't give to her what he himself did not know. But, the trust that she needed to move ahead, the trust that he'd found himself desperate for her to have in him, was a bridge that could never be crossed without it. So, when she'd left him for Westfield, finding a name had become an obsession. He'd come to believe that without it, she could never be truly his. He'd fled to London, determinedly pursuing lead-after-lead, hitting one brick all after another. It was only when she'd come to find him, to bring him home, that he again allowed himself to believe that the issue of a name had been buried, once and for all. Yet, only a few weeks earlier, as he'd found himself behind bars in that jail cell in Las Haddas, at the lowest point of his life that he could ever recall, that it again became clear it would always remain an issue between them. Maybe not something that stood between them each and every day, but one that would rear its ugly head in times of strife. The one truly, insurmountable barrier between them.

Yes, he'd needed the name for her, for them. But it was not until the moment that Flannery made it clear that he could actually have one that he'd been unable to deny that it was what he'd needed as well. He couldn't have phrased it better if he'd tried, when Laura had pointed out that this would mean his days as 'the man with no name' were long behind him. He had an identity that was truly his own, one that could not be taken from him. Even more so, there was written proof in the confines of a governmental office, that he, Remington Chalmers Steele, truly existed. He had walked this planet and left his footprints upon it. There would be record of his birth, his death and everything in between. It meant the world to him, and it had only happened because of Laura.

During the drive to the restaurant, he'd been unable to help himself: a sweep of his fingers across the back of hers, the brush of a hand over her arm, fingers toying with silken strands of hair. The need to be close to her was overwhelming, the demand to express to her his thankfulness for her presence in his life irresistible. It was not until near the end of their meal, as she'd been unable to complete a fully coherent sentence, that he'd recognized the delightful consequences of all that physical contact. Thus had begun a tantalizing game on the way home from the restaurant: he upping the ante, trying to find the point at which she'd break, demanding a cessation of the sensual onslaught of her senses. To his intense pleasure, that point had never come, and he'd reveled in the flushed skin and shallow breaths as his lips journeyed across knuckles, his mouth explored a pulse point and suckled, his fingers found the graceful column of a neck and stroked. By the time she'd pulled the car to a stop in front of Ashford Castle, he'd driven himself nearly as mad as he had driven her.

Stepping from the car, Remington rounded it and opened Laura's door. When she stepped from the car, he closed the door, then leaning his backside against the car, gathered her in his arms. Arms with a mind of their own, looped around his neck as fingers moved to toy with the ends of his hair. Her lips tilted up willingly, eagerly, as his own descended, settling over hers with a gentle hum of pure pleasure. At her own answering hum, a tongue touched her lips in a gentle hint and she opened to him, their arms tightening further around one another as their tongues glanced. When their kiss ended, their eyes caught and held. Laura's fingers laced through his hair at the nape of his neck.

"I want you," she told him, with no little trace of wonder in her voice. During the nearly four years that she'd kept him out of her bed, there were days she'd thought she'd go insane from unsated desire for the man in front of her. She'd believed, foolishly, that after their veritable marathon of lovemaking last night then their indulgence this morning, that her body would be sated. What she'd not anticipated was that in letting her walls down, in letting him into her heart, her need to show him, physically, what he was to her would only grow tenfold. She'd wondered periodically throughout the day if the sex was as spectacular as she was recalling it, or if the memory was tainted by feelings that continued to burgeon instead of stabilize. Whatever the cause, she knew only one thing: she wanted the man in front of her more than she had at any point before.

Remington stared down at her, lost in his own thoughts, more than a bit shell shocked himself. Somewhere along the way, over the last years, he'd convinced himself that once they finally crossed that line and became lovers, the raw, aching need to know her would subside and they'd settle into a place where making love would be an enjoyable pursuit, but not a stark, ravenous need that threatened to possess him. Looking at her now, he knew he'd been mistaken. Each time they'd made love, that raw, aching need to know her had only grown. He'd had great sex, many times, with many different women in the past, and once the deed was done, he'd take away with him the pleasant memory, but, curiosity sated and biological needs assuaged, would not be inclined to repeat the experience. With Laura, everything was different. As he'd believed for years that it would be, the sex was the best he'd ever had. Laura had made it a point over the months prior to learn all of his weaknesses, and she exploited them to bring him almost more pleasure than he could bear at times. But, as wonderful as the sex was, he'd realized from the first moment their bodies had joined that, for them, it went far beyond the physical. Each touch of hands or lips, every word whispered, was an expression of what they felt for one another, taking the experience to an entirely different realm, firmly defining the difference between having sex and making love. He hungered as much for their emotional connection as he did for their physical one. Thus, there was only one answer that came to mind when he answered her.

"Perhaps half as much as I want you," he murmured, touching his lips against hers as their eyes held. Then, after a caress of his thumb against her lips, he claimed her hand in his, and they entered the Castle hand-in-hand, pausing only a few times on the way to the front door to share another breathtaking kiss. They'd every intention of heading directly to their room, when they were waylayed by Mickeline in the foyer as they entered. Both had to resist the urge to groan out loud over the intrusion.

"Good evenin', yer Lordship, yer Ladyship. I'm glad to be seeing' ye, I promise ye that. Phone's been near ringin' off the 'ook all day for the both of ye, every one of them clamorin' that they must speak to ye at once. Weren't too 'appy to 'ear ye weren't about. But I've collected messages for each of ye. Yer Lordship, the solicitor from London told me to 'ave ye call, night or day, 'e said to make I sure I tell ye its urgent that 'e speak to you straight away." Mickeline handed slips of paper to both Laura and Remington, then departed the hall. Laura watched as he scanned the messages he held in his hand, saw the momentary flash of grief that slashed across his face, and knew who the solicitor trying to contact him was.

"Daniel's attorney?" she asked. He gave a sharp nod, confirming her suspicions.

"Callum Phillips of Phillips, Griffith and Bennett in London," he supplied, then looked at her with regret in his eyes. Reaching out, she picked up his hand in hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"It's okay, Remington. Go. Call him. If it wasn't important, he wouldn't have told Mickeline 'day or night'. I'll be upstairs waiting for you when you're done." She bussed his cheek, then began to walk away, but found his hand still clinging to hers. She turned to face him, watched as he turned his head away from her and a hand tracked through the back of his hair.

"Laura…" he managed as he looked back at her, face strained, before he lost the words. She nodded her head and squeezed his hand.

"Alright, we'll do it together. Let's go to the library." Letting out a deep breath, he tangled his fingers with hers, and they walked to the library together.

Laura perched on the desk while Remington took a seat in the desk chair. While he dialed the first number notated on the message slip she skimmed her own messages. Eight total to her count, all from the same person. With a roll of her eyes, she leaned over and dropped them in the waste basket next to the desk. Giving her a raised brow while his eyes glanced towards the trash can then returned to her, he dialed a second number.

"Nothing important," she told him. He mouthed "ah" and nodded his head, before straightening in his chair as someone clearly answered on the other end of the line.

"This is Remington Steele. I've received several messages asking that I contact Callum Phillips regarding the estate of Daniel Chalmers." Noting the slight tremor in his hand that would have gone unnoticed by anyone but her, she pushed herself off of the desk and moved to stand next to his chair, placing her hand on his shoulder. With a strained but grateful smile, he lay his hand on top of hers, as he hummed acknowledgement to someone on the other line a couple of times. "Yes, yes. Tomorrow at 9 p.m. my time, then a week from Thursday, 1 p.m. at your office." He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as the person on the other line continued to speak. "Yes, a fine man. I'll see you then." Leaning forward, he dropped the receiver in the cradle, then leaned back, swiping a hand across his mouth. Grief stricken blue eyes stared up at Laura propelling her to slide herself onto his lap. Wrapping an arm around his neck, a hand stroked his shoulder.

"Tell me." His hand swept across his mouth again before he blew out a little puff of air.

"Daniel… or at least who they believe is to be Daniel… is to be buried tomorrow afternoon in London with full military honors for his part in uncovering Finch's espionage. According to Phillips, Sky 1 will be broadcasting part of the services on the news report at 9 o'clock." Laura considered him carefully.

"Do you want to go? To London? We could leave tonight," she offered. He pressed a hand across his mouth and held it there as he considered her offer, then shook his head in the negative.

"There's little point. It's not Daniel, just a name." Fingering that stubborn lock of hair back off his forehead, she nodded in understanding.

"Are you alright?" He pursed his lips, considering her question.

"Mmmm," he hummed non-committedly. "I'm sure I will be." Wiggling down in the chair, he made himself more comfortable, with the delightful side effect of her settling more firmly in his lap. Fingers swept her hair back over her shoulder as she raised a brow at him. "Besides, I have much more… pressing… concerns on my mind at the moment."

"Bigger and better things?" she asked, as she relaxed against him, a hand running over his chest. A tongue ran across his lips, as his fingers hooked around the back of her neck to draw her lips near.

"Bigger rewards, at the very least," he mumbled, before his lips brushed against hers briefly then pulled away. Her teeth nibbled at her bottom lip, before she looked him in the eyes boldly.

"Care to fill me in?" she inquired, keeping her eyes bound with his as she nipped playfully at his lower lip. She watched as his eyes darkened, a smile of self-satisfaction twitching at her lips.

"I'm sure I could be convinced to share with you the ins and outs," he answered, cupping the back of her head, and pressing her lips against his. The kiss that began light and playful quickly turned ravenous, so soon on the heel of his antics on the way home from Carrick-on-Shannon. When the kiss ended, both were short of breath, eyes dazed with desire. Pushing herself off of his lap, Laura stood and held a hand out to him.

"Care to share a bath with me, Mr. Steele?" Standing, he pulled her back into his arms, his kiss this time deliciously slow and tender, leaving her entire body on fire when he released her.

"I can think of little I'd enjoy more, Mrs. Steele," he whispered, as he pressed his lips against the column of her neck.

"We're not going to make it upstairs if you keep that up," she warned him breathily. His fingers found the buttons of her blouse and began releasing them one at a time.

"We could always take a bath later," he murmured, as his fingers brushed aside the collar of her blouse and his lips found that spot where neck met shoulder and began to suckle. Her knees buckled under her when jolts of pure bliss coursed through her body. Grabbing her by her waist, he lifted her up to sit her on the edge of the desk.

"An excellent plan, Mr. Steele," she agreed, as her hands quickly worked the buttons of his shirt free, sighing when she felt his chest under her hands. Dropping her blouse to the floor, long tapered fingers traced the curve of a silk and lace ensconced hip and waist, before exploring the delicate outline of her ribs.

"Compromise, Miss Holt, the earmark of a great partnership," he mumbled, before claiming her lips under his and lowering her down to lay on the desk.

They didn't make it upstairs that time… or the next.

* * *

In the early morning hours, bodies expended and hearts temporarily sated, they lay in bed on their sides facing one another, legs entangled, while hands reluctant to lose contact wandered over backs and through hair.

"How am I going to let you go?" he asked quietly, fingers brushing along her cheek, then through her hair. Her head tilted and puzzled amber eyes met regretful blue ones.

"What do you mean?" she asked, just as quietly, as her hand traced the contours of his shoulder and upper arm. A thumb brushed over her lips, before fingers traced the column of her neck.

"I've an appointment with Phillips in London next week, and imagine I should make a trip to the South of France to pack up Daniel's villa there," he answered, as his hand sought out her hair again to toy with the silken strands that had enraptured him for years.

"Yes, but what does that have to do with letting me go?" she asked, as her hand drifted across his chest to lay over his heart. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the steady thump under her hand, the familiarity of the beat lifting her lips in contentment.

"We've flights back to LA booked for day after tomorrow…" he paused, thought on it for moment, "…technically tomorrow morning, now that I think on it. It makes no sense for me to fly home only to turn straight around and return." Unable to resist, he dipped his head and pressed fluttering kisses over each of her closed eyes. "One of us has to get back to the Agency, as much as I regret it."

"Someone does, I agree." Stifling a yawn, she nudged his legs so she could slide her leg further between his, then snuggled her head against his chest, watching her fingers as they stroked along his hair there. "That's why I'm going to talk to Mildred tomorrow. She can hold down the fort until we get back." His hand stilled where fingers had been trailing along her back, unable to believe he'd heard what he thought he had. _Is Laura really choosing me… us… over the agency?_ He shook his head, sure he'd misunderstood, as his fingers resumed their movement.

"What are you saying?" he asked, the words slightly disjointed. She yawned again quietly, her warm breath rustling against his chest hair.

"I told you the other day: I'm not going anywhere. For better or worse, remember, Rem? Where you go, I go," she mumbled sleepily. He fought the urge to crush her against him, settling on continuing to soothe her to sleep with long strokes of his elegant hand.

"What am I going to do with you, Laura?" he whispered to her. He felt her lips twitch against him in a small smile.

"I already answered that question last night as well. Just keep loving me." His head bowed down to press a kiss on the top of her head.

"I will, love," he vowed, "I will." Her fingers moved softly against his chest in acknowledgment of his answer, before he heard the soft sigh that accompanied her falling to sleep.

He closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift towards sleep. Somewhere, in that place between wakefulness and sleep, he couldn't help but wonder: Why has it suddenly seemed to get so easy? The ghosts of his past being put to bed one at a time, an identity to truly call his own, and most of all, his wife's sated body pressed up against him as she fell asleep only moments after vowing to stay with him. In that moment, the hope that he'd buried the day the INS had come calling, came back to life and began to flourish.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18: Persistence

Remington woke the next morning to an empty bed… again. Pushing himself up on his arms, he looked around the room, seeking her out. Nary a sight of Laura to be found. He listened for the sound of running water, expecting to at the very least find she'd risen to shower without him, only to be met by silence. Rolling to his back, he scratched at his chin, before shoving himself out of bed while muttering to himself.

"This habit of hers is becoming annoying. Man tries to get a decent night's sleep and what does that get him? A cold bed to wake to, that's what." It hadn't escaped his notice that before they'd turned that corner, he'd wake to find her tucked up against him, her enticing little bottom wriggling against him, making him so damned hard his eyes would cross. But now? Oh, no. Now, when they could enjoy a thoroughly delightful morning tryst, the woman was nowhere to be found. A glance at the clock started another round of grousing.

"Barely ten o'clock. I'll lay odds the woman's been up running about for hours now," he shook his head again, as he entered the bathroom where he found her bathrobe neatly hung on the hook, along with his pajama top she'd pulled on shortly before they fell asleep. A check of the shower showed it nearly dry, confirming his suspicions that she'd been up for hours. Turning on the water in the shower, he stripped off his pajama bottoms and slipped under the warm spray. As he scrubbed down his body, he couldn't help but note another lost opportunity for a round of morning lovemaking.

"That's the bloody problem with being married to the independent sort. She's never where you last left her, Steele, old sport." He chuckled to himself. Well, he'd always liked a challenge, and even now she continued to prove to be exactly that. It appeared he would either have to learn to wake earlier or find a way to entice her to stay in their bed. In the meantime, well, the chase was on. Stepping out of the shower and drying off, he moved into their bedroom to dress so that he could start tracking down his errant wife.

Thirty minutes later, he stood in the middle of the library having come up completely empty handed. A check of the kitchen, dining room, study, den and now this room had yielded not a single sign of Laura. Similarly, casual questions posed to the cook and two maids had been met with responses indicating they'd not seen her 'Ladyship' that morning. Glancing over at the desk, he pursed his lips before a contented smile widened his lips at the remembrance of their encounter the night prior, that had been followed by another lovemaking session on the sofa by which he now stood. Turning on his heel, preparing to leave the room, he caught sight of the waste can in the corner of his eye. With no idea what possessed him to do so, outside of the insatiable curiosity to which he was often prone, he plucked the message slips from the can.

He regretted his actions immediately, as his blood ran cold. Eight messages. All from Anthony Roselli. Each asking her to come see him at the jail where he was currently housed. _The buggering bastard won't leave us alone,_ he thought to himself.

He turned on his heel at hearing a sound behind him, and turned to find Mickeline standing in the doorway.

"Pardon me, yer Lordship, I didn't know ye'd be in 'ere. Didn't mean to be interruptin' yer business." Remington waved a hand at the older man.

"It's no interruption at all," he assured him. Then holding his breath and saying one last prayer, posed a question. "Mickeline, have you by chance seen my wife this morning?"

"Yes, sir, I did. 'er Ladyship had a phone call bright and early this mornin' from that Roselli chap. Said it was urgent 'e speak with 'er, 'e did. I fetched 'er from the kitchen where she was 'aving 'er morning coffee. She asked me to instruct any other callers that she'd be out for the day and that I let ye now she be waitin' for ye in the solarium when ye woke." Remington smiled and gave the butler a nod.

"By any chance, do you know if her Ladyship has had breakfast as of yet?" he inquired.

"As a matter of fact, yer Lordship, Cook asked iffin' she'd be likin' something made for 'er, and 'er Ladyship preferred to wait for yer Lordship to join 'er." Remington's grin only widened at the words.

"Well, then, it seems I should be joining her then, doesn't it?" Leaving the room, Remington had every intention of going directly to the sun room as directed, but midway there turned down the hallway towards the kitchen finding himself enamored with the idea of making his lovely bride breakfast himself. Firmly setting aside any thoughts of Roselli for the moment, he whistled a little tune as he entered the kitchen and pulled down a pan from the rack.

* * *

Laura started when she heard someone in the room behind her. Fully expecting to find Remington there, having come in search of her, she was surprised to see Mildred, clutching a coffee cup of her own.

"Mildred," Laura greeted her, pleased to see her. "Come in, sit down. I was going to come looking for you shortly."

"You were?" Mildred asked, clearly surprised. "I figured you and the Boss would keep to yourselves today, especially after how you disappeared all day yesterday." Mildred grinned and gave Laura a wink. Laura resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"We had a long drive and a busy day in Shannon-on-Carrick," she told Mildred honestly while simultaneously putting an end to further innuendo. "I need to speak to you about tomorrow."

"All packed and ready to go already are you? I figured you would be chomping at the bit to get back to work, so I've made sure to pack your schedules tight," Mildred announced. Laura frowned slightly.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to reschedule them all. Mr. Steele and I won't be returning to LA for nearly another two weeks. That's what I wanted to speak to you about," Laura informed her. Mildred looked at her, clearly shocked by the news.

"Is there something going on?" she queried. Laura shook her head.

"Mr. Steele has some… details… to attend to regarding Daniel's estate: Daniel's house to pack and close up, then next week an appointment with the solicitor handling Daniel's estate. He doesn't need to be left to himself right now." Mildred nodded her understanding.

"Anything I can do to help? My IRS background might come in handy." Laura shook her head again.

"We need you to go back and hold down the fort until we come home. Go ahead and accept any background checks – strictly background checks – and any financial inquiries, then schedule Mr. Steele and I out heavily beginning a week from Monday. We should be back home that Sunday." Mildred nodded her understanding and stood to leave.

"Mrs. Steele? Take care of the Boss. It's going to be a difficult time for him." Laura smiled warmly at the older woman.

"I will Mildred. I'm sure we'll see you later."

Mildred passed Remington on his way into the room, carrying a tray with two plates, tea and juice on it. She paused to pat his arm.

"Don't worry about anything back at home," she told him. "I'll make sure to keep your 'appointments' for you," she assured him, assuming he'd understand her vague reference, which he did.

"I'd appreciate that, Mildred," he said with a fond smile directed at her.

"Anytime. You and Mrs. Steele take time to enjoy yourself," she advised. Remington glanced at Laura, his eyes lighting with tenderness.

"Ah, we will, Mildred, I assure you we will."

Mildred gave him a pat on the arm and left the room grinning ear-to-ear, thrilled to her toes that her kids had finally seemed decide to stop the games, once and for all.

Remington walked across the room to join his lovely wife. Setting the tray down on the glass and wicker coffee table in front of her, he leaned down to brush his lips across hers.

"I'd rather hoped my days of waking to a cold bed were behind me, Mrs. Steele," he murmured against her lips. Her fingers feathered across his cheek as he stood back up to take a seat in the chair next to her. Her eyes twinkled merrily at him.

"Mmmm," she hummed. "I'll make it up to you later," she promised.

"Where did you get off to this morning?" he asked as he handed her a plate laden with fresh fruit and dill feta scrambled eggs.

"You've been busy, I see. Thank you," she told him, brushing her fingers across his hand before she answered his question. "Just spending a little time with my thoughts." He gave her a curious glance as he took a bite of her eggs.

"Is something on your mind?" he asked, then watched as her brow twitched, never a good sign as that twitch often preceded her imparting bad news or wanting to delve into something unpleasant.

"Yes, but could it wait until after we eat? Maybe take a walk around the grounds and talk?" she suggested. He studied her for a long second then nodded. "What was that little discussion between you and Mildred about?" she inquired curiously.

"What conversation?" he asked, evading as he took another bite of food. She gave her eyes a pointed roll.

"Keeping your 'appointments'." Remington gave a slight shrug of his shoulders, realizing he wouldn't be able to hide it from her once they got home – not that he'd ever tried to, it simply hadn't come up.

"Checking in on Maxine and Veronica for me," he answered, now with a tug at his ear.

Laura's fork paused midway to her mouth. "I wasn't aware you were still in contact with them. How often do you check in on them?"

"Once a week or so, although less often since Maxine and Veronica hit it off so well. They're living together at Veronica's now. Quite a relief, I'll admit." Laura set down her fork and gave her head a little shake. A single finger reached under her chin and nudge her jaw up, closing the mouth she wasn't even aware had suddenly found itself hanging open.

"What have I missed? Why are you checking in on them? And when did they move in together? How did that happen?" She asked the questions on a stunned voice, in rapid fire succession.

"After that butler of Veronica's was carted off jail and she banished that monstrosity of a daughter, I was concerned about her living on her own given her… enjoyment of drink. As for Maxine, I couldn't stomach the thought of her collapsing again due to lack of adequate food. I've simply made certain Maxine had appropriate supplies to keep her healthy. I introduced the two of them shortly before I…" he grimaced "… departed for London. When I returned I found they got on rather well with one another, so it seemed a logical suggestion that they join forces, so to speak." He gave a shrug.

"How does Mildred know about this and not me?"

"She caught on to my going… missing… twice a week. Eventually she asked and I told her what I was doing. Safer that than allowing her speculation that I was…" he rubbed his mouth "…seeing someone else, run amok. You know how she gets with all those novels she reads." Laura laughed softly, knowing precisely what he meant. "While I was in London, she took it upon herself to check on them, make certain all was well."

"She never said anything," Laura commented, almost wonderously.

"She wouldn't. Mildred might pump us for information, give her unsolicited opinions and the like, but she's not ever betrayed either of our confidences, at least not so far as I'm aware," he pointed out.

"Why was it a secret in the first place?"

"I wouldn't call it a secret, per se at least no more so than when you pop round to see your friends."

"My friends aren't former clients," she pointed out.

"Technically neither was Maxine nor Veronica," he countered with a smile.

Laura gave a little laugh and a shake of her head.

"Ready for that walk, Mr. Steele?"

"By all means, Mrs. Steele," he agreed.

Dropping off their empty plates and cups in the kitchen, the couple grabbed their coats then journeyed outside in the cool, Irish late-morning. They enjoyed one another's company, often during long periods of silence that was surprisingly comfortable, while interspersing the silence with small talk here and there. After touring the gardens, where Remington gave Laura a thorough lesson on the flora and fauna in the gardens that was indigenous to Ireland, they found themselves, not surprisingly, at the lake to which he seemed drawn.

"So, care to tell me what was on your mind while I slept the morning away?" he finally asked. She glanced at him and he couldn't help but note the twitch of her brow. She considered him carefully, loathe to put a damper on their enjoyable morning, but had resolved that morning it was a topic that could not be left unaddressed.

"Tony." At the mere mention of the man's name, she felt him stiffen imperceptibly beside her.

"I rather thought we'd put that matter to rest already," he told her in that clipped English accent that signaled his annoyance.

" _We_ have; _he_ hasn't," she answered with a huff of annoyance.

"Ahhhh, the messages then," he observed. She looked up at him in surprise.

"You know about them?" she asked, clearly stunned.

"Mmmm," he hummed. "As well his attempt to call you this morning. Seems he's rather… determined… to continue his pursuit."

"Yes, it does appear that way. Even in spite of the fact that I told him you and I have been trying for four years to get here and I wasn't backing away now." He lifted a brow at her.

"You told him that, did you?"

"Do you still doubt that?" she asked, turning to look at him. She frowned at the flicker of uncertainty that passed through his eyes. "Alright, let me make myself perfectly clear then. I never want to see him again." She stepped into him and lay a hand lightly against his check. "The only thing Tony did was make me realize how much and for how long I've loved you." She smoothed fingers through the hair on the side of his head, then held his eyes with her own as she continued. "I want _you_ , Rem. I want all of you, _all of us_. I want to wake with you every morning and to fall asleep in your arms every night. I want to make love with you until our bodies ache then to make love to you one more time after that. I want to lay in our bed at night and talk, my head on your legs, your hand in mine. I want…." her words broke off when he yanked her to him, arms crushing her.

"I want all of that too," he told her, his voice gravely before his lips dropped to hers, touching, teasing, until he kissed her soft and deep, showing her with his kiss just how much he wanted it as well. When their lips parted, she leaned in to touch his lips one more time with her own. Then stepped back, before lacing the fingers of her hand with his.

"I don't think he's going to stop trying to contact me," she told him with an annoyed shake of her head.

"I would say, based on the number of messages left while we were out yesterday, you're right," he agreed.

"I just need you to know, I'm not encouraging it, and his contact is very much unwanted. But I suspect he's going to persist until I speak with him again." She growled low in her throat. "Damn it, Remington, I know this is my fault, but I just wish the man would get the point and go on his way."

"I couldn't agree with you more in that regard." He paused, saw the worry in her eyes, the tension in her body. "Laura, it's okay."

"No, it's not," she disagreed, with a vehement shake of her head and an exasperated growl. "This is our honeymoon. It should only be about you and me… us. Not him. We _deserve_ that… especially after all that we've put ourselves through to get here. It just… infuriates me, that I brought this man into our lives and now he won't go away."

"I'm sure after another brush off or two, he'll get the point," he tried to assure her. Dropping his hand, she lifted her hand to her brow. He caught it, then held it in his hand, stepping to her and drawing her into his embrace.

"It does seem, at times, that we've always one demented person or another after us, threatening what we have, doesn't it?" he asked, rubbing his cheek against the top of her head. "Why doesn't it ever seem to get any easier for us, eh?"

"I think it has," she answered, as she mulled the complexity of his question. "We can't control people like DesCoines, Wally, Dancer or Tony and keep them from inviting themselves into our lives when they are not welcome. But, in other ways things are getting easier. We know what we want. We know how we feel about one another. We know we want to get past Clarissa, Tony. A year ago if all of this had happened, it would have torn us apart. At least for a while, as we always find our way back to each other in the end. But now?" she asked shaking her head against his chest. "Real conversations, facing things head on, not running from them… able to admit what we want. What people like Tony don't realize is that, in the end, dealing with them only draws us closer together, makes us stronger."

"That it does," he agreed, drawing her more tightly against him. Laura trickled her fingers down his back, feeling him involuntarily arch into her hand in response, drawing small laugh from her. She pushed herself back in his arms, so she could look up at him.

"You seem to be overlooking something very important at the moment, Rem," she told him, sliding her hands around his waist, then up over his chest until her fingers played with hair at his collar. Sensing Laura's mood had moved from serious to playful, he lifted a brow to her.

"Oh, and what exactly is it that I'm overlooking?" Pressing herself up on her toes, she brushed her lips against his, backing away as soon a she felt his lips begin to move under hers.

"I seem to recall that I need to make it up to my husband that he woke alone this morning to a cold bed," she quipped.

"Have I ever told you how much I love that wonderfully dexterous mind of yours, Mrs. Steele?" he breathed, dipping his head down for another searing kiss.

"I'd rather you showed me," she whispered against his lips then they parted.

"It would be my pleasure, love. My absolute pleasure." With a final soft touch of his lips to hers, he took one of her hands in his for the walk back to the castle.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19: Solace

Laura woke, disoriented by the silent, darkened room. Rolling over to tuck herself into Remington's side so that she could slide back into sleep, her mind roused further from sleep when she found herself surprisingly alone. They had returned to the Castle, with every intent of going straight upstairs to 'make up' for her morning absence when her stomach intruded upon their plans with a loud rumble. Laughing while muttering, 'of course,' under his breath with a smile, he'd pulled her along, protesting all the while, to the kitchen, so that she could have a 'proper meal' before 'expending a significant amount of energy.'

"Can't have you tuckering out on us due to hunger, now can we?" he'd argued.

So she'd agreed to an enjoyable lunch during which he'd regaled her with a story of a rather vociferous argument he and Daniel had nearly two decades before, when Daniel had insisted the sixteen year old Remington undertake ballroom dancing classes. Laura had laughed uproariously at his offended countenance as he'd related his reaction to when Daniel had first made the decree.

"Really, Laura, I don't see anything funny about it, at all. What self-respecting lad of sixteen would wish to find himself suddenly shackled to bi-weekly _ballroom_ dancing classes. Good Lord, I'd have been the laughingstock of the neighborhood if ever I'd been found out."

It had been mid-afternoon before they finally made it back to their room, where they made up for the morning in a most delicious, enticing way, falling asleep wrapped around one another afterwards.

Glancing at the alarm clock on the bedside table now, Laura groaned.

"Six-thirty?" she groused. She was not a person prone to naps, and that she'd slept so late was a testament to the lack of sleep she'd gotten over the last two nights, although she was not in the least inclined to complain about why. Rolling out of bed, she stumbled to the shower, pulling on a pair of gray slacks and a white sweater afterwards. A quick sweep of her hair with a blow dryer and a light dab of makeup later, she headed downstairs to find Remington.

* * *

Laura walked into the kitchen to find him humming as pots clattered and sauces simmered. She smiled, watching him, and leaned against the door jamb to take in the scene.

He had foregone his usual suit again that evening and was clad in a pair of dress pants and a bulky cashmere sweater. Although always fastidious in the kitchen, as usual, he had slung an apron around his waist, "just in case."

She loved watching him whip up his gourmet creations, always astounded at how easily he maneuvered about the kitchen while she still struggled to make a piece of toast that wasn't singed around the edges.

Quietly walking up behind him, she slipped her arms around his waist and gave him a hug. He felt tense in her arms, when usually he was so relaxed while cooking.

"Ahhh, Mrs. Steele, I presume," he teased, "So nice of you to join me." Putting down the spatula he turned around to give her a gentle kiss, then swatted her on her behind to move her out of his way.

All part of the normal routine, she hoisted herself up on the counter next to the stove, and crossed her legs. She reached out and snatched a piece of carrot from the plate and nibbled at it, grinning at him. She was rewarded with a soft rap of the spatula on the back of her hand.

"No picking, Laura," he warned. She simply smiled wider, and snatched a second carrot from the other plate. He scowled at her, pretending to be cross with her, then turned to the island, reached for the bottle of wine sitting there and poured each of them a glass. Moving back to her, he handed her a glass, then gave her another quick kiss. "You look lovely tonight."

"Why Mr. Steele, you flatterer," she flirted, trying to hook her arms around his neck. He quickly extracted her arms, and moved back over to the stove.

"No time for that, love. The sauce will burn." He flashed her a smile.

"I spoke with Mildred this morning about flying home tomorrow afternoon, and getting the agency back open for us."

Remington glanced up while turning off burners, then started to fill their plates with whatever taste sensation he had brewed this evening.

"And?"

"She was excited. I only hope she doesn't try to play detective while we're gone. We won't be there to bail her out this time," Laura replied, following him into the dining room.

Music reminiscent of the 30's filled the room and candles were lit on the table. He set down their plates, while she placed their wine glasses that she'd been carrying next to them and waited while he pulled out her chair, always the consummate gentleman.

 _It's funny_ , she mused to herself. _I used to roll my eyes when I saw a man do this for a woman in a restaurant and think 'pull out your own chair woman!'_ But in the years that she had known him, she had always found his chivalrous behavior…endearing.

"I'll have a word with her tomorrow before she leaves. You know how she idolizes me" he smirked.

"So you keep telling me," she laughed.

They fell silent. After a couple of bites of the amazing fare he'd prepared, Laura set down her fork and looked at him. Although he was still eating and occasionally taking a drink of wine, he was somewhere far off. He wore his grief like a burlap shirt: confining, uncomfortable, unwanted. Taking her napkin off her lap, she laid it on the table, then walked over to him. Rubbing her hand on his shoulder caught his attention and he looked up.

"Dance with me," she said softly.

Laying his napkin on the table, he stood and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. Laura linked her arms around his neck, and lay her head on his chest, listening to his heart beat as they swayed and turned. They danced for nearly an hour, rarely speaking. On occasion, one or the other of them would reach out to stroke the other's back, or she would lean up to meet his mouth in a soft kiss.

"Laura," Remington said softly.

"Hmmm?" she replied just as quietly, not taking her head off his chest.

"Steal away with me."

Laura kissed his chest, then lifted her head to smile at him, remembering when she had said those very words to him years earlier, before heading off, alone, to Acapulco. "I would love to, Mr. Steele. Where do you have in mind?"

"It occurred to me as we were dancing last night, love, that every time we've come to Europe, we've had one person or another trying to kill us. I'd like to show you a piece of Europe that has drawn me back time and again. We have a little over a week before I have to be in London. What do you say?"

"When do we leave?" she asked, kissing him.

"Tomorrow morning. I've already booked us on a flight."

Laura laughed softly. Leave it to him to book the flight and then ask.

"I look forward to it," she told him, kissing him again.

Remington kissed her back, then hugged her tight, letting out a deep, sad sigh. Letting her go he took her hand in both of his, patting it. Throwing a look at his watch, he told her "it's time."

Laura let him lead her from the room, her hand held tightly in his.

* * *

Remington led Laura by the hand into the salon, shutting the door behind them. Walking past the television, he flipped it on, then sat down on the love seat across from it. Undecided where to sit at first, Laura sat down then turned and laid in his lap, her head nuzzled in the crook of his arm. She wanted to be near him, touching him, to comfort him.

The news began:

The screen showed an honor guard leading a horse drawn wagon, on which a casket, covered in the British flag, lays.

"In London, a military funeral was held today for the man who spearheaded the exposure- and subsequent capture-of British Intelligence double agent, Sterling Fitch. In gratitude for his heroics, Daniel Chalmers was posthumously knighted."

Laura smiled softly, knowing what it meant to him to see his father buried with honors. He just watched the TV with great sadness shadowing his face.

The news broadcast continued, flashing to a hero's burial occurring in Moscow:

"In a related ceremony in Moscow, a high ranking KGB official, Sergei Kemadov, was given a hero's burial, for what the Kremlin ambiguously described as 'assorted heroic activities on behalf of the state'." Laura's smile only widened.

Remington picked up the remote and turned off the TV, grief written all over him, fingering the keys of the remote control absently.

"Only Daniel could end up being buried as a national hero in both London and Moscow," she laughingly told him.

He nodded in agreement, sadly, "It's the ultimate con. He deserves nothing less."

She moved her hand placing it over his, gently. "You're a good son."

 _I've never felt so helpless,_ Laura thought. _I don't know how to take his pain away. She stroked his arm with her hand._

Remington laughed slightly in response. "I only wish I could have spent more time with him."

"On the other hand," she tenderly reminded him,, "You spent twenty years with him."

"Yeah." he agreed, then tossed the remote to another nearby couch and shifting position pulled her further up in his arms to gather her more tightly to him.

"Well, one thing's for certain," he said quietly, staring into her eyes, "I'm not going to waste precious time not showing people who are close to me how I feel for them."

He bowed his head slightly towards her lips, and she lifted her head so their lips would meet. He brushed her lips with his, then kissed her, his mouth moving over hers softly, tenderly, trying to convey everything she meant to him in a single, breathtaking kiss as his hand slowly journeyed up her neck to stroke.

Laura moved suddenly out of his embrace. He dropped his now empty arms and looked away, feeling bereft by the sudden loss of her, before seeing her hand reaching out for his.

"Care to elaborate, _Mr. Steele_?" she asked, smiling invitingly at him.

"Well," he replied, standing then sweeping her off her feet and into his arms "We have the castle to ourselves- _Mrs. Steele."_

Laura closed the door to the salon behind them, as he walked with her in his arms towards the stairs. She glanced quickly around the room to see if anyone was nearby, and saw the large foyer was completely empty. She listened close and heard only the sounds of an empty house.

"Where are the servants," she queried.

"Out celebrating," he told her. "I decided to give them the castle."

"Hmm. That was awfully generous of your lordship," she replied, running her hand down his chest and then brushing her lips across the area over top his heart.

"The act of a desperate lord, I assure you."

Suddenly remembering Mildred, she darted her head around Remington's shoulder, again looking around.

"Where's Mildred?

"I gave her to Mickeline."

"There's nothing between us and the bedroom door?" she asked, almost disbelievingly.

"Uh uh," he said, as he began to carry her up the stairs.

When the phone in the foyer began to ring insistently he stopped cold. Laura, acting quickly, jumped out of his arms. Reaching up, she straightened his collar, then quickly formulated a game plan. "I'll get the phone. You turn down the covers," she said standing up on tip toe and kissing him.

"Hmmm hmmm," he nodded in agreement, although he was clearly off put by the intrusion. Turning his hand into a gun, he "shot" the phone as he passed by it, making her laugh.

Laura walked back down the steps and grabbed the receiver.

"Hello?"

It was Roselli on the line. "Well, they finally released me," he informed her.

"I never doubted it for a moment." She smiled, clearly distracted by what Remington was doing upstairs, saying a small prayer that he would not return to find her on the phone with Roselli.

"I still think Steele's plan was a little risky."

"Kemadov cleared you, didn't he?" she asked, pointedly. _How did I miss that the man is constantly complaining about imperfect circumstances instead of accepting them and forging on?_ she wondered.

"Laura, listen, what we talked about earlier- still stands."

"Laura!" Remington called to her from the bedroom. She glanced upstairs towards their bedroom, her impatience growing.

"This really isn't the best time to discuss that, Tony."

"Laura, I'm not gonna give up on you." She was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the conversation. She'd made it clear to the man where her heart lay, yet still he persisted. To boot, Remington was on edge tonight, his grief threatening to pull him under, and instead of being upstairs with him, where she belonged, she was having to navigate an uncomfortable conversation with Roselli.

"Laura! The bed's turned down!" Remington called again, a blatant hint that she needed to get rid of whoever it was on the phone. _My pleasure,_ she thought to herself.

"I have to go. Right now," she told Roselli, not mincing words with the man.

"Okay, when can I see you?" _Can the man not take a hint? Does he really believe himself to be that irresistible?_

"Fluffing up pillows!" Remington called down the stairs.

Looking up the staircase, smiling, she called back "Coming!" Realizing that Roselli would keep up the unwelcomed conversation all night if she let him, she decided to end the conversation in the most direct of ways. She smiled to herself before speaking.

"I gotta go. Bye," she said definitively, then abruptly dropped the receiver in the cradle.

Laura started trotting up the stairs, meeting Remington half-way up on the landing, as he had come down looking for her. Only a step away from him, she stopped as the phone began ringing once more. He glared at the phone, then looked at her expectantly, fully anticipating her to going back down the stairs to answer it again, as she had never been able to leave a phone ring. She glanced at the phone, then summarily dismissed its insistent shrill.

"Let it ring," she told Remington, standing on her tiptoes and giving him a deep kiss, only to be swept up into his arms once more. They kissed, small kisses, just a taste, as he carried her up the stairs. Only once they'd crossed the threshold into the bedroom, after he'd kicked the door shut, did he release her legs. She slid down the length of his body in the most delightful of ways, wrapping her arms around his neck when she found her feet.

Time seemed to stand still, for both of them, as they stood there for several minutes just holding each other, bright blue eyes and soft amber eyes refusing to break away from one another. Leaning down, he touched his lips softly to hers, slowly increasing the pressure before settling firmly over top of hers. He kissed her in the way she loved most, in that manner that left her eyes sparkling, skin flushed, breath shimmering. She sighed against his lips, which always elicited an answering hum from him, a sound she adored, that never failed to thrill her to the tip of her toes. It was only in not hearing it, that she stilled, leaned away from him even as his lips moved to claim hers again.

Fingers brushed away hair from a forehead before a pair of hands settled, one on each cheek, and her eyes studied his face like the skilled detective he was. The normally bright, mischievous blue eyes dulled by profound grief. The tension forming lines around those beautiful eyes. The jaw that twitched, which always indicated his was battling off emotion. The shoulders, normally squared off, strong and proud, rolled forward. The hands that had remained at her waist, when usually one would have sought her hair the moment their lips met. She smiled softly at him, her thumbs fluttering back and forth from cheek to jaw.

"Have I ever told you when I knew you cared for me more than any man in my life ever had?" she asked softly. His eyes sparked with curiosity, the arms around her waist tucking her a little closer to him.

"No, when was that?"

"It was the night after Veckmer blew up my house. I thought, then, that it was the worst thing that had ever happened to me, that ever could happen to me. I offered myself to you that night, if you recall." His hand did find her hair now, sweeping it back over her shoulder, before laying against her neck, a thumb stroking.

"How could I forget. It's the first time I can ever remember you looking at me with absolute trust in your eyes. No one had looked at me like that before, and I knew, then and there, that I wanted nothing more than to see that look in your eyes again."

"Do you remember what you said to me?" He nodded, his hand moving to her cheek so that his thumb could graze over her full, bottom lip.

He hummed in an affirmative response, before answering. "That I couldn't ask." She nodded.

"And I can't ask tonight." She told him, taking his hand in hers and pressing her lips to the center of his palm. "Go take a shower and come to bed, Rem. I want to keep you close." She watched his eyes moisten at her words, before he rapidly blinked it away. With a gentle press of his lips to her cheeks and a squeeze of one of her hands, he turned in silence and headed towards the bathroom. Only when she heard the shower start and the door snick close, did she leave the room and head back downstairs.

The phone continued to shrill across the castle, as it had been for the last five minutes. Picking the receive up off the cradle, she waited a second, then disconnected the caller before laying the receiver down on the foyer table. She knew perfectly well who it was, calling persistently and she wanted nothing, whatsoever to do with him. _Tonight… No…,_ she corrected herself, _from here on out every night is about Rem._ Turning her back to the phone, she returned to their bedroom. Stripping out of her clothes, she pulled one of his pajama tops from a drawer and put it on before slipping into bed to wait for him.

Later, as she watched the fire flickering slowly down to only embers, her fingers soothed through ebony hair, while a hand ran comfortingly up and down the back of the man whose head was pillowed against her chest. She pretended not to notice as the shirt she wore grew damp with his tears. It was enough that he felt safe to lose himself in his grief because of her presence.

* * *

Long fingers toyed with silken tresses of hair, while a hand skimmed across the sensitive skin of a waist. Laura's eyes fluttered open to find Remington looking down at her, his face dulled by loss. She knew without a word what he was silently saying. Crossing her arms in front of herself, she grasped the hem of his pajama shirt and lifted it over her head, dropping it to the floor. Soft lips wandered, fingers stroked tender trails across bare skin, before two bodies merged, slowly, almost reverently, as Remington found solace from his grief in her body and in her love.


	20. Chapter 20

Epilogue

Laura woke to the sunlight streaming through the bedroom windows. Stretching her body with catlike grace, she rolled over in search of Remington, only to find a pair of bright blue eyes assessing her with amusement from where he stood across the room.

"Mornin', love" he greeted her. A smile lit her face a she rolled to her stomach and she lay the side of her head on crossed arms so that she could watch him.

"Mmmmm," was her only reply to his greeting.

He was already showered and dressed, grabbing clothes out of drawers and closets and dumping them in suitcases. Passing the bed, he reached out and smacked her bare fanny a couple of times. Laura, once more draped in his pajama top, sat up and pulled her knees up to her chest.

"Really Laura, I never knew you were so lazy, sleeping away the day like this," he teased. "You really better get a move on. Our plane leaves in two hours."

"Where are we going?" she asked, realizing he had never told her.

"All in due time Laura, all in due time," he smiled in return.

Laura swung her legs over the side of the bed` and got out, heading to the bathroom.

Absolutely ravishing he thought, watching her. He took a couple quick steps towards her, cutting off her path to the bathroom, and grabbing her around the waist drew her tight against him. Leaning down, he kissed her on the lips.

"Mornin', love," he repeated.

"Good Morning, Rem," she replied smiling up at him impishly, then began rubbing herself against him. His body immediately hardened at her antics. Picking her up, he set her away from him, boldly admiring the view. Lifting up her hand, he ran his lips across her knuckles.

"Oh, no you don't, Mrs. Steele," he admonished her playfully, "Your delicious plans will make us late for the flight. Go get ready, while I finish packing."

Laura laughed, then with a flip of her head, sauntered to the bathroom to take a shower, completing the task in record time. Stepping out of the shower with a smile on her face, she wiped down her body quickly with the towel laid across the warmer, then boldly walked out of the bathroom without a stitch of clothing on. Moving to the suitcase to pluck out an outfit for the trip, Laura silently laughed with pleasure as Remington caught sight of her and she watched his eyes darken with desire.

Unable to resist the luscious little body belonging to the woman intent on luring him into a morning tryst, he moved to her and folded her in his arms as his head dropped so that his lips could claim hers. Bending his knees, an arm swept under her legs and he carried her back to their bed. After laying her down upon it, he began to rapidly divest himself of his clothing before climbing onto the bed beside her.

"Well, I suppose we can always catch a later flight," he mumbled, as his lips descended to take possession of hers again. She laughed softly against his lips, then reached up her hand to brush that unruly lock of hair off his forehead.

"Mr. Steele, I think that is one of the best ideas you've ever had," she whispered huskily against his mouth, as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled his body down to press against her own.

* * *

Five hours later, Remington and Laura stood on the stern of a ferry that was crossing crystal clear, blue waters. An arm was anchored on either side of her, as Remington leaned against the railing, keeping Laura tucked between him and it, his chin leaning comfortably on one of her shoulders. The gentle winds coming off the water ruffled his hair while showering them with a fine mist of salty water. He wanted to keep her close, so he could feel as well as see her reaction, when the ferry took its final turn.

He felt Laura's body suddenly lean forward, heard her gasp of pleasure as the stunning view of the Calderas came into sight. "Greece," she murmured almost reverently. "I can't believe you brought me to Greece." He nodded his head against her shoulder where it rested.

"This is more than a country to me, Laura," he told her quietly. "Which is why I've never brought anyone here before now." She turned herself around in the narrow confines of his arms and the railing so she could look at him.

"What do you mean?" she asked, tilting her head to the side, her eyes filled with open curiosity.

"It's family, Laura. The only place, other than you, that I've ever considered home." Her breath caught and a palm flattened against his chest as the realization struck her.

"Marcos," she said almost reverently, drawing a wide grin from him.

"Yes, and Elena, as well. Not to mention… well, you'll see. They'll all be descending upon the house the moment they hear the news," he laughed.

"What news?" she asked with another tilt of her head.

"Oh," he said casually, "that Xenos has returned home with the woman he hopes to spend the rest of his life with." Laura's eyes widened at his words.

"Do you mean that?" she asked in a dazed voice. Turning her back around, so that she wouldn't miss the stunning view before them, he nuzzled his cheek against the side of her head.

"I told you the day we wed that I intended us to be the happiest married couple in America, love. Now all I have to do is convince you of that." Brushing her hair aside, he placed a tender kiss on her neck.

Laura closed her eyes, her teeth gently nipping at her bottom lip, before she opened her eyes again to find the hand of the man she'd tried to run from for years. Wrapping his arm around her, she tucked herself close to his body, and said a prayer of thanksgiving that she'd finally realized it was time to stop running and start holding still, because as convoluted as their romance had been to date, it had certainly been one adventure after another. As the Calderas loomed closer before them, she couldn't help but wonder what came next.

(TBC in Be Steele My Heart - Part II of the Be Steele series)


End file.
